


The Fourth Son

by Wynja2007



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, Tolkien's Legendarium
Genre: Alcove Bathing, Bow making, Coming of Age, First Love, Gen, Giant Spiders, Grief, Growing Up, M/M, Parenting Skills of Questionable Quality, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2018-10-23 20:37:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 76,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10726767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/pseuds/Wynja2007
Summary: Canadion Merenorion appeared in 'Where it Doesn't Show' and he, and his improbable relationship with an elf much, much older than himself, captured the imagination of some of my readers and I was asked to write more about him.Here, at last, is the story of Canadion's young life.Told in parts, the first ten chapters deal with Canadion, while the second part takes a step back in time to trace another elf's early history...





	1. Sons, But No Daughters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telemachus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift for the amazing Telemachus.
> 
> As every, thoughts and opinions expressed by the characters are theirs and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the author.
> 
> No copyright infringement is intended here; in fact, the whole thing is very light on canonical characters...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part One: Canadion

The little elfling snuggled in against his Ada’s chest, listening to the melodic, soft singing, feeling the vibrations of the music through his body. Ada was home, Ada was singing, and everything was happy and lovely in his little world. His delicate face softened into a beautiful happy smile, and above him, the face of his Ada smiled the same smile back and cuddled him a little closer for a moment.

There was another voice in the background, higher, the words faster than his father’s slow song, the sounds clipped. He didn’t understand half the words, he wasn’t supposed to anyway, and he tried not to hear Nana. She always sang this song, mostly when Ada was home, although lately she had started singing it to Bau’, too.

Ada continued the song. He always did that, never left off in the middle of a song-tale.

Canadion, elfling that he was, of course, didn’t know Ada did it mostly because it made Nana crosser. All he knew was Ada was home, cuddling him, singing to him, giving him every bit of his notice, stroking his hair, cradling him in warm and soft. His eyes flickered open, and just before the nictitating membranes slid over, the little one’s father saw the golden edges to his brown irises glinting.

The elfling had his father’s eyes, his father’s chestnut hair, his easy temperament, his smile. Such a happy little fëa, this one! And so trusting, so easily consoled and comforted.

The song ended on a softly drawn out note, and the elfling’s father wished there were more verses, because now the little one’s mother came to stand in the doorway and fold her arms across her chest, glowering. No scowl so fierce ever graced the face of a warrior preparing for battle… really, she ought to have been a guard, with such a stern bearing and determined will, and perhaps, had she been born in days when there was more need for fighting strength and less need to build up the population…

As it was, she was of the merchant class, very good at trade and drove a hard bargain, even with her husband, he thought, trying not to let his wistfulness show on his face.

‘Well, Merenor?’

‘Yes, Cullasbes?’

‘Will you speak to Baudh?’

‘Since you wish it, I suppose I must. Yes, I will talk to him when he gets home.’

‘I am grateful. Give the little one to me, I’ll put him to bed.’

She held out her arms and Merenor had to exercise great control not to hold the little one more tightly in response.

‘No, leave him be,’ he said lightly. ‘He’s doing no harm here, and we’re both enjoying it.’

Cullasbes sniffed, and sought something else to find fault with.

‘You know, I wish you wouldn’t sing those songs to him!’

‘But they’re traditional! And he loves the Storm Song, especially on loud nights...’

‘Well. I suppose... but not the stories, Merenor, no more of those tales of the Valar riding through the forest – you’ll frighten him!’

‘What, when I talk of the wind soughing across the ventilation shafts and say it isn’t wargs come to get us, but the horns of Oromë reminding us he’s riding abroad to keep us safe? How is that frightening?’

‘It’s one of your old Elk-trainer tales; it has no place in the palace...’

‘But I worked amongst the old Elk-trainers, my dear; does that mean I have no place here?’

‘You are no longer with the Elk-tamers!’

Merenor sighed.

‘I know it. Ai, they were good days, you know.’

‘But from before you went into trade with me; don’t you think it time you left it behind you and embraced our way of life?’

‘Can I not do both? Respect the ways of my forebears and yet still acknowledge I live in a more modern world?’

‘It looks as if your loyalties are divided; how are our business partners meant to trust you if they see your heart isn’t in the work?’

‘Maybe you should do it, then,’ Merenor said. ‘Leave me with the boys and you make the journeys...’

‘No, it would not work; some of the Men we trade with do not accept ellith as business persons.’

The little one stirred and murmured as he edged more deeply into reverie, and Merenor hummed another verse of the song to settle him.

‘Merenor! Not an Elk-handlers’ song!’

‘Oh, you would prefer I sang to our son from the ditties I hear along the way with the wagons?’ he asked mildly. ‘There is a rather wonderful one about a lady with tattoos who is famed through the land... apparently she is an illustrated marvel, full of educational opportunities... shall I...? Her name is Lydia, and it goes...’

‘Merenor!’ Cullasbes hissed. ‘Not in front of the elfling!’

Merenor smiled. 

‘Just as you please,’ he said.

Cullasbes retreated to an inner room, leaving Merenor in possession of his youngest son and the seat by the fire. Baudh, his second son would be home soon, and he rather thought Cullasbes would stay out of the way until he’d had the promised conversation... of course, he hadn’t told her what he was going to say, which was probably just as well because, patient and easy going though he was, there were some subjects on which he held very decided opinions...

His eldest son, Caraphindir, had trained as a scribe but instead of putting his skills to use in the business as Cullasbes had expected, had moved away not long after he reached adulthood to teach elflings in one of the villages in the south. He was reserved, and shy, and sometimes Merenor wondered if the atmosphere at home hadn’t suited him. Certainly, it didn’t suit Merenor.

Baudh, the second son, was by nature everything Caraphindir wasn’t; bold, and laughing, and perhaps a little silly, Merenor’s happy nature taken a little too far... he’d not been happy of late, though, something was bothering him... he’d a minor position with the Royal Household, care of the King’s Horses, something like that. Cullasbes heard only the ‘Royal’; Merenor heard only ‘horses’, and as his son had inherited his own love of animals, knew he was happy in his work.

He bounced in a few minutes later.

‘Ada! You’re home!’

Merenor smiled and laid a finger across his lips, glancing down at his sleeping armful.

‘Baudh, my son, yes. You look well?’

‘I am, well, I am happy, it’s the same thing...’ Out of deference to his sleeping little brother, he lowered his voice and dropped onto the settle near his father’s chair. ‘Our king is getting a new elk; finally, one’s been found that seems to fit his majesty’s requirements; a big, red fellow – so few of the silver ones born lately – Fire Foot, they are calling him around the stables, but of course, they don’t know his lineage...’

‘No, of course; they probably only know he isn’t a horse because of the funny little trees on his head, yes…? Go on?’

Baudh rattled off a string of names that meant nothing to anyone who hadn’t spent time around the elk herds. But Merenor nodded at each ‘out of’ and every ‘by’, as he built up a picture in his mind of the new elk.

‘Six points?’ 

Baudh nodded enthusiastically.

‘Yes, carries them well, too; he’s going to have a lot of power behind him... they’ve asked me to look at gentling him a bit, which is insulting to the Royal Elk Tamers – they know their business.’

‘So you’ll just have to gentle the stable hands instead… Better not tell your mother, though, you know what she’s like...’

‘About working with elk? Yes, but...’

Merenor dropped his voice.

‘No, about gentling stable hands...’

Baudh clapped a hand across his face to keep in a giggle as his father winked at him.

‘Adar...!’

Merenor grinned.

‘Well? Are there any nice ones?’

‘Oh, Father, I...’

Cullasbes came to the door.

‘There you are, Baudh! I’ve asked your father to have a little chat with you...’

‘We have, dear,’ Merenor said quickly. ‘We’ve been chatting. It’s been a lovely chat, really...’

‘You Know What About...’ she said sternly.

‘I’m working up to it.’

‘Hello, Naneth,’ Baudh said. ‘Is there anything you need help with? Errands, perhaps?’

‘You just listen to your father.’

‘Yes, Naneth.’

‘My son, your mother tells me she thinks the second daughter of her friend Brasbes would be a good choice of wife...’

‘Cugwen?’

Merenor shrugged.

‘I don’t see it myself either, to be honest, but...’

‘There are good connections in the family for the business,’ Cullasbes pointed out. ‘It will strengthen bonds of friendship between us. And they know us well enough to be understanding.’

‘Now, a moment there, Cullasbes!’ Merenor said, gentling his voice because of the sleeping Canadion but glaring at the mother of his sons. ‘Why would we need people to be understanding?’

She had the grace to flush.

‘I only meant... Anyway, you said you would talk to our son!’

‘I did so. Baudh, if you want a wife from an apparently understanding family, one who will further your naneth’s business ambitions, you could do worse than to marry Cugwen. But if you don’t want a wife, then I shouldn’t bother, if I were you.’

‘...Adar?’

‘After all, Caraphindir isn’t married, and he’s the oldest....’

‘Melion is married,’ Cullasbes pointed out. ‘And I fail to see...’

‘Yes, you really do fail to see, don’t you? Melion found a person he loved, and who loved him. They both wanted to be vowed, and not her family, nor his family, could have prevented it. But it’s different...’

‘Very different, Merenor, or are you blind and deaf to your son’s proclivities?’

‘Which son?’ he asked, hating the shame he could see growing in Baudh’s eyes. ‘Caraphindir is not married, not in love; why should he marry?’

‘But I am not talking about Caraphindir...’

‘Then why must Baudh marry just to please you? He is not in love... at least, Baudh?’

Baudh shook his head.

‘He needs a wife!’

‘No, Cullasbes, he doesn’t. Perhaps he needs a sweetheart, a fëa-mate. But he doesn’t need to be tidied away in some pretence of marriage to an elleth he doesn’t care about and who probably doesn’t care about him; or if she does, she’ll end up breaking her heart, and his, because with the best will in the world, Cullasbes, you can’t get milk from a bull. No, that metaphor is the wrong way round, I think, but you know what I mean. Now, I suggest we leave the young people to sort out their own love lives, because the Valar know, we have no right to interfere!’

Cullasbes sniffed and stuck her nose in the air.

‘I had better go and tell Brasbes there will be a little delay...’

‘Tell her from me I withhold my parental consent and will do until my last breath,’ Merenor said. ‘Unless you really are in love with the lass, Baudh?’

Baudh shook his head, eyes wide.

‘That’s settled, then,’ Merenor said. ‘Enjoy your visit, Cullasbes.’

She stalked to the door and almost would have slammed it, but remembered the sleeping elfling in time. Merenor saw the change of plan and sighed.

‘You know, it’s a pity; if she’d woken your little brother, I could have sung him another traditional Elk-tamer song... Now, Baudh, now she’s gone...’

‘Ada, I am sorry, I just do not like any of the ellith naneth finds for me, in fact, I do not think I will ever find an elleth I can love, I do not know why, I think maybe she might have died somewhere or...’

‘Or maybe you just prefer ellyn.’ Merenor said. ‘True, it’s not hard to like ellyn better than the daughters of your naneth’s friends – they’re a scary lot at the best of times... but I think it might be otherwise. Although, perhaps you have not thought about that yet, and I may just have frightened you, if so…’

‘You know?’

‘Well… I had an inkling, but I didn’t want to impose my ideas on you in case I was wrong. But now, I think perhaps, you do not like ellith because ellyn are more your taste... I wasn’t entirely joking when I mentioned gentling stable hands, you know.’

‘And you do not mind?’

‘Of course I don’t mind; it’s no secret that your mother and I were not a meeting of hearts and souls… they said it was unlikely we would ever find our true fëa-mates, and as I desperately wanted to have children, it seemed an acceptable compromise at the time. But I would have my sons follow their hearts, wherever that leads them.’ 

Merenor sighed. He really, really wanted just to say, ‘besides, you take after me, penneth; I do not like elleth either…’ but one of the many concessions he had made when he took vows with Cullasbes was that he would not speak of his preferences. It had started out as respect for the mother of his elflings, that she wouldn’t be talked about as not chosen for love, but then Cullasbes had said it might not be good for trade, and they needed to provide for their growing family, and before he knew it, Merenor found it a forbidden subject entirely.

Besides, since he had taken vows he had stayed true to them; however much he might wish to find a more congenial partner, he had promised the Valar he would honour his commitments. To bring up the matter now would be to invite too many questions, perhaps put him in the way of temptation, possibly even cause problems for his beloved sons in a society that was not as accepting as it had been at one point. He did his best, though, to drop hints here and there to Baudh, and took the opportunity now to offer him some advice.

‘But, Baudh, penneth, such arrangements as your mother and I have do not suit everyone. Which is why I advise you not to marry or take vows...’ Merenor sighed. ‘You will start out with the best of intentions, respecting and liking each other, but time will pass and every disappointment will feel like an accusation and in the finish you will only ever get on well if one or other of you is either just returned from somewhere else, or just setting off somewhere else... If you are fortunate, you will manage to have elflings, but you might be quite glad you can ask the Valar, and so not have to go against your nature too often...Baudh, my very dear son... I love you, and you brothers, very much. However difficult things become, I can look around me and see four wonderful ellyn, each one special and perfect, each one infinitely precious, and then, yes, then I know it has been worth it. But that’s no reason for you to marry an elleth your mother chose for you... if I didn’t have your brother in my arms, I’d hug you right now, Baudh...’

Baudh found himself smiling.

‘Can I remind you later, Ada?’ he asked.


	2. Welcoming Ada

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion greets his father...

‘Very well,’ Baudh said, smiling down at his littlest brother. ‘I will let you greet him first, Canadion!’

‘Oh, thank you, Baudh! I will run!’

‘Well, don’t trip up, then!’

‘Ada, Ada!’ The little elfling hurtled along the track to where a handsome ellon with tired eyes was just dismounting from his horse. ‘My Ada!’

The ellon laughed, all traces of tiredness evaporating, his eyes lit with joy as he bent to catch the little one in his arms and swing him up in a hug. 

‘My Canadion, my son!’ Over the elfling’s shoulder, he caught Canadion’s brother’s eye.

‘Thank you, Baudh!’ he called. ‘Come, there’s room for you, too!’

Baudh waved and came up more slowly to hug his father, little Canadion between them and feeling so blissfully happy to have two of his best, most favourite people cuddling him at once that he didn’t even notice the conversation going on over his head.

‘How have things been, ion-nin?’ he said as Baudh released him from the hug and went to the horse’s head, leading it off towards the stables.

‘Not easy, Adar. She... she knows I’m like you, now, she said so...’

‘I see. I hope she wasn’t too unkind?’ Merenor asked as he followed, Canadion still in his arms.

‘She told me I had to stop seeing my... my friend. And that I am a nuisance, because now the list of eligible ellith is much reduced... I told her, I said, I have no need to marry, I do not need elflings, I have brothers, and Melion is married, he will have elflings, so will Caraphindir one day, and Canadion maybe, and I do not want to do as Ada has and married without love… she did not like that...’

Merenor sighed.

‘Ai, Baudh...! You know, just because I have not found a fëa-mate in your mother does not mean I have not been happy; I love you all so very much and all I have ever wanted is for you to be able to follow your hearts. You are of age; you do not have to do what Naneth says any more...’

‘Neither do you,’ Baudh said with a grin.

‘That’s true. Although while my little bucketful of sunshine here is underage, I need to be careful...’

Merenor kissed Canadion’s cheek.

‘Well, my little armful of happiness, would you like to ride on Ada’s horse for a bit? Baudh will lead you, and I will hold you on...’

‘Please, Ada! I like your horse, Ada!’

‘So easily pleased, too...’ he smiled. ‘Baudh, I’m sorry about your friend. Do you miss him very much?’

‘No – because I didn’t do as Naneth said... Oh, we’re being careful – his parents know how he is, and they don’t like it either... but they know he’s old enough to leave home, and they like him more than they dislike me... if that makes sense...’

‘Perfect sense. Ah, here we are! Down you come, Canadion, or would you like Ada to be your horse home?’

Merenor set the child on his back, Canadion’s arms locked around his neck, legs supported by his strong arms, and, allowing Baudh to carry his pack for him, headed off towards the dubious comforts of his fireside.

*

When Baudh announced he was going out that evening, eating in the great hall and then visiting a friend, Cullasbes’ mouth set in a firm, hard line. Merenor saw, and almost wished he could eat out and go visiting, too... but Canadion was sitting on a little stool at his feet, resting against his ada’s legs, and that made up for any storms there might be ahead.

‘Have a nice evening, Baudh,’ he said, smiling and winking, knowing Cullasbes couldn’t see. Baudh did, and turned away to hide a blush. ‘But don’t be too late home, will you?’

‘No, Ada – I won’t.’

‘While we’re alone...’ Cullasbes began once Baudh had been gone a few minutes.

‘Well, we’re not, really,’ Merenor said, dropping his hand to stroke Canadion’s hair. The youngster looked round with a smile. ‘We have our penneth to keep us company.’

‘True. I will phrase what I have to say carefully, then.’

‘Or wait it until later. How is our little one doing in his lessons?’

‘They seem content with him; he does his numbers well, and his letters. But he does want to spend a lot of time drawing and making things...’

‘Ah, well, I used to like making things myself, as you know... perhaps, as I am here for a few days, we can make something together...’

‘As long as it is not a messy project, I suppose so. And he is to start with the bow at the start of the next session.’

‘I am glad you mentioned it; that is what... six weeks away?’ Merenor smiled down at his son. ‘I have time to make a fine bow by then, and perhaps Canadion, you could help?’

‘I would like that, Ada. My first bow. That we make.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Cullasbes said. ‘You shall have your first bow, and your Adar can make it for you. Perhaps you will even be able to watch...’

‘And help.’ Merenor said, smiling and stroking the chestnut hair. ‘I am sure you can help. Cullasbes, I will gladly talk with you, about whatever you wish, but let us just have a family evening, shall we?’

‘You know about Baudh?’

‘I do,’ he said. ‘My second son. Our second son.’

‘More yours than mine. He refuses to marry.’

‘Perhaps he just hasn’t met the right person yet.’

Cullasbes sniffed.

‘After all,’ Merenor said, ‘Caraphindir isn’t married, and he’s four decades Baudh’s senior...’

‘It is different, and you know it. Well, it is almost time for supper.’

For the sake of the elfling, conversation was kept to the gentle and pleasant over the meal, and at the end of it, when Canadion started singing the storm song under his breath, and Merenor joined in, all Cullasbes did was shake her head.

‘I won’t quarrel about that with you tonight,’ she said. ‘But...’

‘Oh, how delightful! What shall we quarrel over?’

‘Nothing, I hope,’ she said, and for once sounded sincere. ‘Would you like to put him to bed, then, and I will look in on him soon?’

Nightshirt on, face washed, thanks given to the Valar for all their wonders, Canadion snuggled down in his bed, his ada sitting beside him and a story book open on his lap.

‘Can I have a proper story, Adar? A real one?’

All the stories were proper, and real, of course, but what Canadion meant was that he wanted one that wasn’t in any of the books, one with provenance, one that had been told to Ada and Ada had kept in his heart to tell to him, one of the prohibited elk-tamer’s stories, perhaps. 

‘Of course, penneth,’ Merenor said, and launched off into an unlikely story of how there was still a Maia in the forest, looking after the elk herds and keeping them safe.

‘And they say the Maia is very beautiful, and has a friend in the shape of a white stag. Nobody knows if it is a real, white stag, or a magical creature, but whenever you see a white stag, you see proof that the Valar have not deserted us here, but have left one of their helpers, the Maia, to keep us safe. Because although we did not sail when they asked us to, neither did we run away after like naughty children... and we caused a lot less bother than those who sailed and came back again. We grew with the forest, and it grew with us, remember, and it will always shelter us.’ He leaned down and kissed his son’s forehead, and just had time to launch into the much less-interesting and far more usual story of “The Little Elf Who Could” before Cullasbes came in to say goodnight.

‘That is nice, a proper story,’ she said, kissing Canadion’s hair. ‘Goodnight, Canadion.’

The elfling looked at his Ada with a grin in his eyes, and the Tale of the White Stag remained their secret.

*

‘Now, Cullasbes, what is it you have been burning to talk about all evening?’ Merenor asked once they were settled in their chairs either side of the fireplace. ‘I take it that it is not Baudh? Or more than him, perhaps?’

‘You have been away for four months,’ she said. ‘Work, of course. And then you come back, and you go again.’

‘I thought that was how you wanted it, Cullasbes; me looking after the southern aspects, you the local ones...’

‘It is all right at present,’ she said.

‘Because I would happily be here, to help with the local matters. We could get someone to help out. Actually, the elleth who helps me, Eregnith, she is able, she manages well when I am not here, she could take more responsibility...’

‘I was going to say, I need to fill my days with more than work, for I am lonely. I have time now for another elfling...’

‘That’s not a good idea...’

‘And we might get an elleth this time, if we both asked the Valar properly and were sincere, if we tried more than once...’

Oh. So this is where they were again, was it?

‘But, Cullasbes, I do not care if I have a daughter or not; all these wonderful sons with which we are blessed...’

‘You see? I am sure it is because you do not ask properly... and because you do not, we get a half-creature, one who looks male but does not yearn for female companionship; an elleth’s longings in an ellon’s frame...’

‘Now, that is superstitious rubbish, and you know it, Cullasbes! Baudh is not traditional in his outlook, but nor am I, and if anything, you should have thought about it then, that like the shades of hair and the tilt of a nose, perhaps, preference is inherited from the parents...’

‘So it is your influence, you see!’

‘No, for I cannot control the colour of my sons’ hair, or... I only want them to be happy, Cullasbes, I only ever wanted happy, healthy children... What, should I lie to the Valar? Give me that which I do not want, but my wife does, and so I am saying it is what I want too? That is very loyal, but not honest. And I need to be honest, Cullasbes, in my dealings with the Valar...’

‘I worry that when Canadion gets older, you will be a bad influence on him; your very presence could cause him to be like you, when there is no need for it...’

Privately, Merenor thought it would be better for the child to take after him than his naneth.

‘If he does, he does; I will neither encourage him, nor tell him he is wrong if he likes ellith; yes, I suppose I owe you an apology; I am sorry, I prefer ellyn. I have not indulged my preferences, not since we took vows; I have never broken them. I left that side of my life with the Elk-tamers, in the forest. But I cannot change my nature and nor can our sons; what they are is what they are...’

‘But there is a chance that Canadion might not be...’

‘He will be as he will, my son, your son, our son...’

‘You will be a bad influence on him. Not yet – I do not mean yet – but when he reaches thirty or so... it is a difficult time... it would be better if you were longer in the southern offices without coming home.’

‘For whom? I love my family, you know that...’

‘Well, most of us.’

‘It is not that I do not love you, Cullasbes; I simply cannot find it in my nature to desire you. It is not your fault, it is not mine. We have tried...’

‘I want to try again, one last time.’

‘But with Canadion so young, still...’ Inspiration struck. ‘You would need me here, at home, to look after him, while you had your hands full with a new baby, would you not?’

‘No, I could manage...’

‘Because Canadion is far too little for a new sibling, if there is only one parent at home.’ Merenor smiled. ‘Consider the matter, my dear, and then let me know what you think best.’

But the matter was not mentioned again, except that Cullasbes gave Merenor to understand that the southern offices needed much more attention than he seemed to realise and it was important that he prioritise the business so that his sons could be properly cared for at home. He did not quite believe matters were as bad as Cullasbes thought, but there was a glint in her eye and he lacked courage to challenge her.

So Merenor sighed at his own lack of courage, and spent as much time as he could with his sons while he had the chance.

*

Canadion’s first bow, when it was finished, was perfect. A little bit bigger than was actually right (since Merenor did not know how long it would be before he was home to help with the next one) to give him growing space, it was made of yew that Adar had asked the tree to give them, standing under it with Canadion’s hand in his, explaining he wanted to make a bow, the perfect bow... it was as if the tree gifted them a branch, for no sooner had Ada said, a bow for my Canadion, than from high above, a creak and a crack, and a slide through the tree as a branch longer than Canadion was tall slithered down to them.

Ada looked up into the tree and bowed.

‘For your generous gift, we are most grateful,’ he said, and winked, and if Canadion wondered why Ada had winked at the tree, which seemed very informal, at least he did not see, grinning from the canopy, Baudh, complicit in the tree’s gift, happy to add a sense of wonder to the choosing of the wood for his brother’s first bow...

The shaping and the forming, accompanied by little bits of information, not too complex for an elfling still in his second decade but interesting, took several days. Canadion couldn’t know that Merenor spun it out, making it a leisurely process so he could enjoy every scrap of time spent working together; it was possibly the slowest made, smoothest first size bow in all of the forest by the time they were done.

But done they were, just in time for the start of the session, where all the proud Adars and Naneths gathered to watch their sons and daughters take their first, official shots. For, of course, some had been given pre-lesson teaching, so they were not nervous, or in the hopes they would stand out and shine amongst the rest. And some had inherited their parent’s first bows, so the equipment knew what it was doing, even if the elfling didn’t. 

The point, however, was a rite of passage reached, and whether the little ones shot well or badly, they shot, and after the session were forever changed by the experience.

‘Actually, Canadion isn’t at all bad,’ Baudh said, proud brother to proud father. ‘He certainly looks as if he means it!’

It was about an hour into the session, and some of the little ones were already bored and restless, too young, yet, to see the point. Why hunt food? Food comes from the corridor servants, or is in the Great Feasting Hall, or Naneth cooks the food, it is not for an elfling to get it... why hit a target? You cannot eat a target. But the lesson that, one day, you would have to shoot for your food, or for your life, that was too hard a lesson for today. This day was all about –this is who you are, where you come from – here is a bow, and an arrow, just use the one to shoot the other at the round rings...

And Canadion was loving it. He was doing what Ada had used to do, in the forest, when he was with the elk-tamers, shooting a bow! And it was a special bow, the tree had given them the wood on purpose, a gift for him. So to honour the tree, he would do the best he could...

He liked it! He loved the sound of it, the sing and swoosh and thunk! He did not love how it made his fingers hurt, how the bowstring slapped against his wrist, but he did not complain and it was not long before the young tutoring hunter saw and shook her head, and came forward.

‘You know, only the quickest learners need a wrist guard on their first day,’ she said, carefully binding a strap of leather around his slim wrist. ‘There! You are very brave not to complain! And your parents can get you some proper ones made, for I am sure you will be a fine hunter when you are older!’

When the lesson was over, Canadion threw his arms around his father’s waist in a hug, looking up with worshipful eyes.

‘Ada, thank you! It is the best bow ever, it shot really well, much better than some of the other bows!’

Merenor laughed and stroked Canadion’s hair.

‘Well, there are those who say it is down to the skill of the one holding the bow as well... you did well, ion-nin.’

Behind Adar, Canadion could see Naneth talking to one of her friends in the distance. He sighed and let go of his Ada.

‘I must go and thank Naneth for the lovely quiver she gifted me,’ he said.

‘She will like that, ion-nin.’

‘Only, Mistress Felaves is there, and I am a little shy...’

Baudh laughed.

‘Yes, I do not blame you; I am shy of Mistress Felaves and her daughters myself! But I will come with you, if you like.’

‘Thank you, Baudh.’

While they were gone, the hunter came over.

‘I am sorry that his wrist was stung. But in little ones like these, it is so rare...’

‘Peace, Hunter...’

‘Celeguel. He has never used a bow before?’

‘Not to my knowledge. I work away much of the time, but it does not seem like something his mother would do, encourage him to learn ahead of the time. I have no objections to him learning more, to being the finest shot in the forest, in fact...’

‘That is good to hear; I think he could be exceptional, in time.’

‘Just from what you have seen today?’

‘Just from that. And from the lift of my heart when I saw the bow... there is so much love in the work, he will be a hunter just to repay the gift of it.’

‘As long as he is happy, you have my permission to train him however you, and he, want.’

Besides, Merenor thought. If his son was spending time with an elleth, even one fifteen decades his senior, it might go some way to allaying Cullasbes’ fears and make her leave the little mite alone...

Canadion came running back.

‘Ada, Ada, did I say? The bow is perfect!’


	3. Canadion's Walkabout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion goes into the forest to learn about his heritage

The bow was perfect. 

Every time Canadion had outgrown a bow, he and his father had made a new one, together, choosing a tree, asking the forest to provide... when Canadion was as tall as his father, and ready for his first full-size bow, Adar had confessed, finally, the truth of the first bow, Baudh in the branches with a pre-begged branch. It had made him laugh, his father’s shy anxiety in case the subterfuge had upset him, but no, he was delighted that his father had wanted to add to the mystery.

The thought relaxed him, made him smile. Ada was away so much, working, but Canadion had never doubted his love, that his father was doing it for him and his family, not because he wanted to. It sometimes seemed to Canadion that his adar had given up so much for his family… he had left the life he loved with the Elk-tamers in the forest, just so he could have a family and be a father. Canadion hoped he could be as good a son as his adar was a parent…

‘When you’re ready...’

The voice of the archery master cut into his thoughts. Yes, he was ready. He had been ready for this moment all of his life...

Nock an arrow, draw and lift, feel for the proper tension of elbow and wrist and finger, feel how the bow becomes an extension of the arm, how himself becomes an extension of the bow... feel the connection all the way down to the tip of the arrowhead and release... one after another until a half dozen arrows spiked out from the target, nicely clustered close to the gold.

‘Well done, everyone,’ someone called. ‘But the round goes to Canadion.’

‘That’s my son,’ he heard a voice say. ‘My son, my Canadion!’

Adar! Ada had got here in time...!

Canadion hadn’t known; he’d been at the training range all morning, ahead of this session, this contest that wasn’t a contest for all the young elves working with full size bows for the first time... and Adar had not been there when he’d left the rooms that morning...

There was no winning or losing today, of course. But Canadion came away with the highest score, he knew that, and all his family, it seemed, were there to greet him, acknowledge him; Caraphindir, who had been working in one of the southern settlements for a time, Ada had collected him on the way home... Baudh and Melion; even though Melion was married now, he still found time for his brothers... and Adar, of course, there was no end of hugging Adar...

‘Are you looking forward to your walkabout?’ Adar asked. ‘It won’t be long, now, I think?’

Canadion’s smile trembled and he knew Baudh and Melion were looking at each other with anxious concern.

‘Well, Naneth thinks it’s all very well for those whose work takes them into the forest every day, but she sees no need for me to be from home...’

‘But... you learn about your heritage, your connection to the forest! Even our prince will go, no?’

‘In fact, he did,’ Melion said. ‘While you were away this last time. But not even that would sway Naneth... I think she does not like to be alone in the rooms...’

‘Well, I am here now, for the next few weeks... she need not be alone, Canadion, I am sure there will be a group you could find...’

Canadion shook his head.

‘Ada, I don’t want to give up time with you. I know how precious our family time is, I don’t want to miss any of it...’

‘My son, thank you. But it is your heritage, your birthright...’

‘Well, you show me, then.’

‘Canadion?’

‘You take me out into the forest, show me it as you know it...’

‘I like the idea, but your mother...’

‘If I cannot go with those of my own age, why should I not go with my father?’

‘With his family,’ Caraphindir said. ‘Because I think it’s a wonderful idea, and I’d like to come along, too.’

‘You could go too, Baudh,’ Melion said. ‘I know it is not like time for you and Ada, Canadion, but Naneth is much less likely – and able – to protest if some of us are there too. I have my own family, of course, but... I will be here, to laugh at Naneth, if she needs it. You are together too seldom; let me do this for you.’

*

Several days later, in the face of Cullasbes’ protests, Merenor, Caraphindir, Baudh and Canadion set off into the forest. To begin, they had the escort of Hunter Celeguel, and one of her ellyn, for she wanted to be certain they were not likely to get into any trouble from which they would later need rescuing. But after having watched Merenor insert himself into the forest like fingers into a glove, seen the family hunt their dinner and cook it, and share it too, she gave a nod.

‘It is my opinion you are no more likely to come to harm in the forest than any of my hunters might... in fact, I would like to press my case with you, Canadion, and say we would welcome you in our company, or a career in the guard would perhaps suit you... if you simply need something to do while you decide on your life, then come and be one of my hunters, just for a few weeks or a season or so...’

Canadion sighed and smiled.

‘I would like that! I have had tales of the forest all my life, and would like to be more a part of it... but my naneth, I do not think it would be grand enough for her...’

‘But it is your life!’ Celeguel protested. ‘With all respect to your father, you should do what your heart wants you to...’

‘My Adar has always said so, too,’ Canadion said. ‘It is Naneth who sees other things in my future.’

‘Maybe you should just enjoy the now, in that case,’ Celeguel said. ‘And leave the rest for later. And so, for general safety, I want to hear your identifier calls at one of my flets each noon, if you will, and that allows you time to explore and be independent, and for me to know you are safe.’

‘Of course we are safe!’ Canadion said, smiling at his father. ‘My Ada worked with the elk-tamers. He’s even seen the White Stag of the Maia guardian, you know!’

*

Around their camp fire, three hours into the forest, Baudh smiled at his father.

‘The White Stag of the Maia? Really?’

‘Yes, really. Why do you ask? My young days spent running the forest with the Elk-tamers and the herds, getting to know them, working on harness to fit them specially, for it is not easy to harness an elk so that it doesn’t mind it, you know... of course I saw the creature, and very beautiful it was too! Ah, but I had many happy decades in the forest!’

‘It’s just that Naneth doesn’t believe in the Maia. And she always says she doesn’t know a thing about your early past, when we ask her,’ Caraphindir said.

‘Well, I think she finds it hard, accepting there was a time when I was happy... Before, before I changed to working for the business, that is...’

‘Adar...’ Canadion began slowly. ‘Does that mean you’re not happy now?’

‘On the contrary, my son, I am extremely happy at present; I am joyous; I have three of my four wonderful sons with me, I have the forest as my bedchamber and a canopy of beech for my roof; it is all I could ask for... well, I could ask that Melion be with us, but he has his wife, and is happier with her, I think, than he would be messing around in the forest with us.’ Merenor smiled and poked the camp fire with a stick, making it spark. ‘But I do miss the old days...’

‘Tell us, Adar,’ Caraphindir asked.

‘Oh, you have heard all my tales hundreds of times...’

‘But Canadion has not,’ Baudh said. ‘Not hundreds, at least. Not all of them.’

‘It’s true, perhaps you have missed out on a few of my old stories, penneth,’ Merenor said. ‘But, I suppose, the skies above us, the forest all around... it is the perfect night to revisit those days... if you look up, you will see the stars glinting in the sky like the lanterns of the Valar, but in the tale I will begin with, there was a moonless, starless night of cloud and rain.... and it is a true story, this one, it actually happened to me, and I ever afterwards doubted my own senses. But at times like this, with the jewels of the sky so bright above, I could almost, nearly, believe it...’

They were four days in the forest, and if it was not long enough, still, it was four happy days stuffed from dawn until dusk with discovery, and then stories around the campfire as Merenor brought forth all the forbidden tales for his sons, and only regretted Canadion was so nearly grown up now that some of the childish wonder was gone from them.

*

‘That bow is perfect,’ Merenor said. ‘Well done, indeed!’

Canadion smiled, honoured at the compliment as his adar lifted the weapon and tested its draw, felt its tension.

‘Thank you, Adar – I remembered your lessons, you see...’

‘And very well you did, too.’ Merenor set down the bow and gave Canadion’s shoulder a squeeze; he wasn’t sure if his son was too grown-up for a hug now, since the euphoria of meeting again had worn off, and he wanted the lad to decide. ‘Your begetting day tomorrow, and you will come of age! How wonderful for you! And yet it seems only a heartbeat ago I was cradling you in my arms singing you the Storm Song!’

Canadion laughed and began to sing.

_‘The clouds all gathered in the sky_  
To make a crowd together.  
And wandered over to the wood  
To give it stormy weather....' 

‘Yes, that is the one!’ Merenor said. ‘I really do not know why your naneth didn’t like those songs...’

‘Why, because they were your songs, of course!’ Canadion said, surprised his adar had not known. ‘They reminded her of a time when you were not part of her life and then, she had so much of the care of me, perhaps it seemed to her that I preferred you... because she was there for all the tellings-off and orders, and helping around the house, and you were here for storytime and cuddles and... I would have liked it better if you had been there to tell me off, though...’

‘Ai, penneth...’

He set down the bow as he saw a glint in Canadion’s eyes that had nothing to do with the gold of them and opened his arms. Canadion rushed in and hugged him hard, hugged him as if he never wanted to let him go, and Merenor stroked his back and rubbed circles on his shoulders, calming him.

‘It is not the same without you, Adar...’

‘I know, Canadion, I know... but you are of age tomorrow, and can choose what to do with yourself after that.

‘But it would be disloyal of me not to do what you and Naneth think is best,’ Canadion said into Merenor’s hair.

‘Except that those things are different; I want you to be happy. The Valar only know what your mother wants, for you to achieve happiness her way, perhaps... which is ironic, if I think about it too long...’

Merenor gently disengaged from the hug.

‘My son, my dear son, your mother has different ways of looking at things. I would have loved to spend more time with you as you were growing up, but she wanted me to work the southern end of the business... and I should have been more determined, perhaps, but you must know how your mother frets...’

How Cullasbes could take a grievance and run with it for years, damaging everyone in her path... he didn’t want that for poor Canadion...

‘No matter. What about your name, have you thought of a better one?’ Merenor smiled. ‘Something about your happy smile, your keen aim, hmm? Your bright spirit, or the way you leave a little trail of things in your wake so we always know where you are...?’

Canadion was shaking his head.

‘It would be disrespectful not to keep the name given me,’ he said softly. ‘Since only one name was I given, it means you both wanted me called Canadion, and so...’

‘No, penneth. It just means I didn’t argue with your mother over it when you were born. I am sorry about that.’

‘Indeed, it is hard to argue with Naneth; she feels things so strongly and is so... so good at explaining why...’

‘And persistent! Penneth, don’t let yourself get dragged in to doing what she wants... the business is fine without you...’

‘Unless I could come and be your apprentice?’

‘A lovely thought! But she has already said she would not support that.’

‘Then I will join the hunters for a season or so, maybe. I would like that, and it is an honourable choice of duty. And Naneth cannot complain. Well, she can, but it will do no good...’

*

‘Cullasbes, no!

Cullasbes folded her arms across her chest.

‘He is of age. Now is his most vulnerable time; if he wants to see you, he can visit, make the trip to see you. I want you to pay attention to the business more. I do   
not want you corrupting him with your perverted affliction...’

‘The only affliction I have, Cullasbes, is in my choice of life-partner!’ Merenor snapped. ‘That part of my life I set aside to be a father to my sons; I have never broken, or even bent my vows since I took them, I have been faithful and not even looked at another elf, elleth or ellon... So do not now be harsh to me, not when I have done all you asked...’

‘My son will not be corrupted by your influence. I ask you to stay away. More, I insist!’

‘No. I need to know all is well with them, my sons, and Canadion especially...’

‘I will write to you and tell you. In return, you can visit,,, occasionally, perhaps even once a year and see for yourself. Not his begetting day; that is for the family...’

‘But I am his family too... This is not fair, it is not what he wants... Why are you doing this to us?’

‘It is what is best for him.’

Merenor shook his head.

‘I doubt that; I think what is best for him is that he has both his parents here to support him whatever he chooses to do with his life...’

‘Of course, if there were to be another elfling... I might need you here, now, Merenor...’ Cullasbes said, not looking at him. ‘I know we discussed it before and you did not seem over-eager... but now... now I have a granddaughter, I feel I am not too old and it would be good to see them grow up together, our granddaughter and, perhaps, our daughter...’

‘And we are back again to this? No, Cullasbes! The Valar have said no to your request for a daughter four times and now I am saying it! I will not bring forth another child into this world simply because you feel unfulfilled without a daughter; it is not fair, and were that child to be a fifth son, you would only hold him to ransom as you are doing my poor Canadion! It is unfair, Cullasbes, unfair!’

Unfair though it was, Cullasbes would not be moved from her stance and so the next time Merenor took to his horse it was with a heavy heart. If Canadion wondered why his father clung more than usual, he did not ask, for partings were always heavy for the father and his sons. But as Canadion watched his ada until he was lost amongst the patterns of the forest, he had no idea how many future reunions and partings were ahead for them.


	4. The Bathing Pool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a row drives Canadion from home...

‘Canadion? Canadion, come back here!’ Naneth shouted. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘Out,’ he said, and went.

The truth was, Canadion didn’t really have a destination in mind. Away from home, that was the most he could hope for. Away from the rows and the bitter words.

Away forever would be nice, but he’d have to go back tomorrow, or the next day, or when one of his brothers found him and told him Naneth had calmed down again.

Adar was gone off down to the office, and it was going to be at least a year before he came back again. Each time, it was harder and harder to say goodbye and this time, Adar had shaken his head and drawn Canadion a little aside.

‘Penneth, when are you going to join the hunters as you said you wanted? I am sure it would do you good, and when you are a little independent from home, you will find it easier, I am sure.’

‘Naneth does not want to be alone in the rooms. She says it is getting dangerous in the forest and so we must be careful so she wants both Baudh and me at home. Ada, I know how well you shoot, and how the forest loves you, but will you be all right?’

Merenor laughed.

‘My dear son, yes, the forest is safe, I am always safe amongst the trees. It’s true that right down to the south, and the west, there have been one or two little incidents. But there are Men there now, and who knows if they are arguing amongst themselves and blaming it on other things, or what they are doing? However, I am as far away from danger as you are from Dale. It is fine. But… I wish I could stay longer.’

‘Then why do you not?’

A sigh. ‘Well, it seems to me, your mother finds me difficult to have around. I annoy her, and that makes her more cross with you, and it isn’t your fault, Canadion, really.’

‘It is strange. Naneth only ever seems to argue with me when you are here, Adar. When you are away, there is a sort of peace.’

‘Well, then. The sooner I go, and let peace be restored, the better for us all. But never forget, Canadion, I love you and I am proud of you.’

‘And I you, Ada. Be well.’

It was strange how when Adar was back, Naneth changed. It wasn’t nice, and it took her a day or two to adapt and calm down again. Tonight, Canadion wasn’t in the mood, missing his Ada too much, and so he had fled the family rooms.

Something had been preying on his mind for a while now, and he had wanted, hadn’t dared, ask his ada about it.

It seemed to him that there could only be one reason why two allegedly-intelligent wood-elves would have a fourth elfling. 

Desperation.

A firstborn speaks for itself; an heir, perhaps; a symbol of love and union. To have a second infant, a sibling for the first, a sense of completion… if the preceding children are both male, or both female, then a third attempt at evening up the gender balance isn’t unreasonable.

But if a couple had, say, three sons in a row, and then went on for a fourth time, what possible reason could there be other than to try to have a daughter? And when that longed-for daughter turns out to be, in fact, another son, what then? How can you possibly grow up to feel loved and wanted and cherished when even your name – Canadion – is merely a number, an acknowledgment of your place in the hierarchy of the family?

It wasn’t his fault Naneth wanted a daughter and had got him instead. ‘Fourth Son’, that was what his name meant. His two oldest brothers had real names, but the one next in age to him was Melion, ‘Third Son’. So it was as if Naneth wanted a girl very badly, to keep having children even though all she seemed to get were boys. 

As for Adar, he really didn’t seem to care.

But even so, Canadion’s name felt like a reminder that he was a disappointment to begin with, and more and more of one as he grew older. Melion didn’t see it. Perhaps being the third child, the burden of expectation hadn’t been so heavy on his shoulders. Or perhaps because, halfway into his twenty eighth decade, he had made vows and before his thirtieth, had a daughter of his own.

Melion had always tried to help.

‘Well, consider,’ he had said once. ‘Maybe Naneth didn’t name you out of disappointment, but pride. After all, even the king only has three sons.’

Canadion had shook his head.

‘You do not live at home, now, you don’t hear, when Adar is home, at night, and she says to him, it is your fault, you didn’t wish hard enough, you didn’t care, you didn’t really mind…’ and I know she means, that on my begetting day, when she asked for a daughter, the Valar said no, and if Adar had asked, too, they might have agreed,’ he had said.

‘Well, if ever it gets really bad, come and stay with us,’ his brother had offered.

But was it really bad? Or was it just bad, like it always had been?

It probably wasn’t serious enough to justify disturbing Melion and his wife tonight.

He couldn’t go home though, not yet, so he decided to visit one of the communal bathing pools – not the one his family shared with others from their corridor, but one of the larger, deeper pools where he could float a bit. Besides, since it was one near the barracks entrance, and frequented by warriors more than palace elves, he felt he was less likely to be sought there.

Leaving his clothes on one of the shelves, he collected a towel and wrapped it round his waist loosely before heading for the ellyn’s section, fully expecting to be the only one there at this late hour. So to spot another occupant was a surprise, and he halted in the entrance way, unsure what to do.

The ellon was down at the far end, in a separate alcove of the pool. Standing waist deep, his long mahogany hair darkened by the hot spring water, the bather was scooping handfuls of the warm, clear liquid from the pool and pouring it onto his body, so that it trickled down his strongly-muscled form, the drops following the contours of his muscles.

Canadion swallowed. He had never seen anything so beautiful as the sight of the ellon cascading water gently over his skin, and he felt a strange stirring in his body that made him gasp, a feeling he had never felt before in response to another person. His heartbeat ratcheted up as the ellon turned and smiled at him and in that moment, that instant, Canadion’s life changed forever.

‘Hello,’ the elf said. ‘The water is lovely this evening. I’m Duvainor .’

‘Canadion,’ Canadion managed, trying not to stare.

The ellon was almost as tall as he, with eyes a strange shade that was almost green, but mostly dark blue, rare in a Silvan. His nose was long and gently rounded at the tip, giving him a friendly expression, and his lips were full and very red. The smile on his face was curious and interested, and as Canadion stood there, wondering how he was going to get out of his towel and into the pool without an embarrassing display, Duvainor looked him over, his smile broadening slightly as his gaze lingered at the bulge that couldn’t entirely be put down to the folds of the towel.

His eyes travelled back up to meet Canadion’s own gaze.

‘Well, Canadion,’ he said. ‘Don’t be shy. Come on in.’

He turned away and Canadion took the opportunity to cast aside his towel and hurry into the water, hoping to hide the evidence of his embarrassing, unexpected arousal. But Duvainor turned back before he was fully covered, and Canadion blushed and apologised.

‘For I have never seen anything so lovely as… so beautiful… as you, washing.’

‘Thank you,’ Duvainor said. ‘And do not worry; I think we may be here for the same reason, after all, yes?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Canadion said. ‘I came away because Ada went back to the south today and as soon as he had gone, Naneth said she wanted me to walk out with her friend’s daughter Hinnordes , but I do not like her…’

Duvainor laughed.

‘Just the fair Hinnordes, or all your naneth’s friends’ daughters?’

‘They are all the same. All equally bad.’

‘I see. Well, Canadion, let me explain… and apologise in turn, perhaps. Those of us who prefer the company of ellyn to that of ellyth, this alcove, it is where we wash and bathe and wait to see if any others come to look; it is a private sign between us and saves much awkwardness. I thought I hadn’t seen you here before.’

‘I didn’t know… that it was allowed. Or that there was anywhere to meet. Or that I might be.. . My Naneth says, afflicted…’

‘A terrible word. It is not what they said when the warriors marched to Dagorlad and were lonely on the way, or needed comfort on the way home. But when those who survived came back, and there was a need to rebuild our numbers, then it became less accepted, and within two generations, they were calling us that with unkindness in their manner of speaking. We are not afflicted, Canadion, we are different.’

He cocked his head as if listening, and moved out of the alcove to stand closer to Canadion, not uncomfortably so, but certainly nearer.

‘I thought I heard voices, and I recognise one as that of an ellon who might be looking for companionship, also. But I have no wish for his company tonight, so moving away from the alcove into the main pool, it shows I am not seeking. Would you be kind enough to appear to be washing my back? Unless you would like to leave with me?’

‘Could I so? I would like that.’

‘Of course. You are most welcome. We can simply talk, if that is all you want.’ Duvainor propelled himself out of the pool, revealing long legs and perfect buttocks before folding himself into a towel. ‘Or see where the evening leads.’

‘Thank you.’

Canadion climbed the steps, acutely aware of Duvainor’s scrutiny. He tried not to blush as he covered himself and headed for the changing area. There were two ellyn there, talking lightly as they folded their clothes. One of them looked at Canadion with rather more intent that he felt comfortable with, and he moved around the shelves to dress in privacy.

‘Obviously here just for the waters,’ one ellon said to the other. ‘Young, anyway.’

‘Pity,’ the second replied. ‘Why is it the best-looking ones are always out of reach?’

‘Ah, well. If nobody else shows, you can always come home with me, Tawon. Again.’

‘Kind of you.’

*

The voices receded and Duvainor slipped around the furthest shelves to smile at Canadion. He was dressed now in grey leggings and darker tunic.

‘You’re in uniform!’ Canadion exclaimed.

Duvainor laughed.

‘Indeed, I am one of the archers in Captain Bregon’s company, and considered a fair shot, too. Shall we go?’

Canadion gulped. Dressed, Duvainor somehow looked older, less approachable. It was probably the uniform, he thought. The ellon’s eyes were still warm and friendly.

And very, very lovely.

With a smile, Duvainor set off through the corridors. He had a long, lilting gait, an almost musical way of walking, a slight sway of his hips that was enticing, sensual, and Canadion wanted to lag behind, just so that he could watch his new friend moving. But Duvainor waited politely for Canadion to catch up, placing himself close to his side.

‘Of course, single warriors’ quarters are a little on the cramped side, but with most of my time out on duty or at practice, or in the mess, it is no matter. Plus, we have our own common room if we want to mix with our comrades.’

‘How long have you been in the service?’

‘Six or seven decades, now… I’m just down here, now. I count myself fortunate, I have an outer chamber with a window.’

After a few more minutes wandering the corridors, Duvainor led Canadion off to a smaller passage and stopped outside the third door along.

‘Here is home. Come in and be welcome.’

It was indeed a very small room, big enough for a table and a chair, a bed and hearth, a weapons chest and a stand for weapons and uniform. There was a space hewn into the rock above and to one side of the fireplace, and Duvainor brought down two wooden beakers, reached under the bed and found a bottle of beer.

‘We can share a drink, if you like,’ he said. ‘I have plenty. Sit on the bed, if you like, or at the table if you prefer.’

Canadion sat on the bed and accepted a beaker.

‘I’m grateful,’ he said.

‘Ai, it is I who should thank you – for saving me from myself, perhaps... I am lonely, fair Canadion, and but for you I would probably be flirting with ellyn old enough to know better and neither of whom I especially like.’

‘Are you so lonely, then? Is it not better, if they’re so bad, not to...? I don’t understand, I’m sorry. I’m foolish.’

‘You are young, and fair, and this side of life has not shown itself to you before. Yes, I am lonely – my family is elsewhere, and do not like me to visit anyway, because I will not take a wife... they are not easy with me... and my friends in the guard have their own families, their own friendships, and such as I... many do not feel safe, being social with me alone. So unless I feast in the great hall and talk there, after, or seek companionship in the pools, I am alone.’ His beautiful lips drooped down sadly. ‘I was not always so, you see. But tonight I am blessed with the company of a beautiful ellon, and I must not be downhearted. I expect we will only talk, but that is fine.’

‘Why will we only talk?’ Canadion asked, sipping the beer.

‘Because you are young, and as I have said, beautiful, and I am already longing for more between us. But a friendship with you would be better by far than a night spent entangling you in new experiences which you might not like. I am content to proceed slowly, if we can proceed at all.’

‘I would like to be your friend.’ Canadion sipped again, emboldening himself. ‘I would like to be anything you would like me to be, Duvainor.’

‘You are very tempting, and very sweet, and I think you might need someone to take care of you. There are many who would take advantage of your youth and inexperience, Canadion, and not all are considerate.’

‘You alarm me, a little,’ Canadion said.

‘Do I? I do not mean to. Perhaps I mean to warn you to be cautious. If tonight was your first visit...’

‘But I went only to bathe, truly I did, away from the home corridor where I might be looked for! I did not know what that part of the pool was used for, I...’

‘If tonight was the first time you had thought of an ellon, shall I say then? If truly this is the first you knew of your nature, then there is much for you to learn, to understand. It is not easy for those of us with different preferences, and yet it was not always so... shall I tell you, fair Canadion, our history, such as I know it?’

‘Please; I would like that.’

Duvainor stretched himself out on the bed and beckoned Canadion to rest against his shoulder, draping his arm gently around him.

‘Comfortable?’

‘Yes, thank you. Very comfortable.’

‘Then lie back, take your ease with me, and listen to the story of how we first earned our name...’


	5. The Afflicted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Duvainor explains a few things...

‘Do you know how we got the name, Afflicted?’ Duvainor said. ‘Originally, it wasn’t about our love preferences at all. It was really intended as a term of kindness.’

‘Kindness?’ Canadion asked.

Duvainor nodded, and shifted position, drawing one foot up close to his body, his other leg stretched out, the muscles standing out clear and strong through the fabric of his leggings.

‘It all began in the bad days, when everyone went away to fight. Dagorlad. On the way home, it is said, those who survived drew together for solace, a reminder they were alive, in spite of all. There is nothing, mellon-nin, quite as potent a reminder of that as lying in love – or lust – with someone. Nobody saw anything wrong with it then, nobody was harsh or dismissive or unkind to them. But when they got home, and wanted to still carry on their… friendships, it was a different tale. Anyway... the ones who were damaged by the fighting, hurt down to the fëa, those were the ones called Afflicted. And, since most often it was these poor fellows who had sought to drown out the screams with companionship, the word took on a broader meaning, to encompass their partners, too.’

‘That makes sense, I suppose,’ Canadion said.

‘When they first came back, the ellyn who had comforted them... they were honoured, can you imagine it? Held in respect for seeing beyond the difficulties these survivors had and doing what they could to help. Of course, it was long ago, and although some of the old warriors still survive, we’ve lost a lot of them. Anyway, after a few years, the word started to go round, we need to think of the population, and if ellyn are dallying with ellyn, who is going to father the next generation of elflings? And so it changed, and we became despised for turning towards our heroes.’

Duvainor smiled, but there was a touch of a grimace to it, his eyes sad, and Canadion moved up the bed to slide an arm around the tanned, strong shoulders. Duvainor leaned in and gave a little sniff.

‘Did you have a lover who had seen battle, then?’ Canadion asked, wondering, because if so, how much older he must have been than Duvainor?

Against his shoulder, the beautiful ellon nodded.

‘He was a survivor of Dagorlad, a hero, but his... his homeward friend had died, and he was alone for a long time before I took up with him. I heard his voice first – he sang so sweetly, with so much aching in his tone, that I needed to see who was making that wonderful, glorious, tragic sound. And... he was the ugliest ellon I have ever seen! No, really; he would joke that he survived because orcs mistook him for one of their number, and non-orc enemies would take one look at his face and run away screaming! His nose had been broken, and not set, and he had scars on his face... half of one ear was gone and he was blind in one eye. And, oh, his hair, on one side it didn’t grow properly, he had bare patches, from anxiety, the healers said. But it didn’t matter; he had a beautiful fëa.’

‘And you became friends?’

‘It took months to persuade him I was serious,’ Duvainor said. ‘He was so used to being turned away from. But what we had... it was special in a way that nobody after him ever was. He was my first lover. And, yes, I know, I have had many partners, but I chose the word with care. He was the only one I allowed into my body – the others, after, I would perform certain services, I would take them... but it was my way of honouring him, I suppose, not to give myself to them as I freely, lovingly, had done him.’

‘I see. I think. I don’t believe I’ve seen him...?’

‘You won’t, mellon nin. He died five years ago.’

‘I am sorry for you, it is a very short time, really...’

‘It was the Night of the Names, I was with him. I sat with him as he talked about all his old friends, how they had died, where and when, and I held him when he cried, and let him love me, and stroked his poor, broken face. “They are very loud in my head tonight, Duvainor,” he said. “They want to bear me off with them to Mandos, and peace.” I told him no, that I loved him, I wanted him to stay, and he stroked my hair. “Dear child,” he said, “you have brought me so much happiness, you have blessed my recent years. But you must go on, and live your life, not squander your youth and beauty on me. Or on those who would follow me, if they could; do not let the old ones leech from you. Find yourself someone young and beautiful, and be happy for a time. And think of your old friend, and know I stayed longer, and found some peace, because of you.” And I cried, and he shushed me, and kissed me, and sang me to sleep. And when I woke in the cold morning, he had turned away from the land of the living and set his eyes on Valinor, and he was dead, still cradling me.’

‘How awful for you! But it seems almost beautiful, too. For your friend, it sounds lovely, to hold one who loves you as you sleep your last...’

‘It took a little explaining, I can tell you! At least all the older ones who had lusted after me, they backed away for a very long time. But when they did grow interested again, I thought of what he said, and I was very reserved with what I would permit. I settled to no one ellon, not wanting to be claimed, and so they vie for me, which is silly. I have been trying to stop, to spend less time with them, but my body is lonely and there was no-one else... and I kept thinking about what he said, to find someone young and beautiful.’ Duvainor lifted his head and Canadion saw tears in his eyes, but also something more; he saw hope there. ‘At last, I think I have found him. If you will have me, Canadion? If you will let me show you how wonderful the ways of love can be for two ellyn, and if you would be my lover?’

Canadion swallowed and looked down into the gorgeous greening-blue eyes. He stroked the long, dark hair with shaking fingers.

‘I would like... I would like it if we were each other’s lover. Could we try, do you think?’

Duvainor nodded, sitting up and pulling Canadion into his arms, kissing him with a wildness that took Canadion’s breath away and made his heart scrabble and scamper in his breast, looking for a way to beat clear through his chest. Duvainor was warm against him, his arms powerful, his body strong and soft, his mouth gentle through the urgency as he held Canadion close, pulling their bodies together to press and burn.

The kiss ended when Duvainor broke away.

‘I am sorry, that was too fierce an introduction to the kiss. And I said, tonight we would only talk, there is so much that is new for you... But I... I I am in love with you already, I fear!’

‘Don’t fear!’ Canadion said. ‘Don’t be afraid of me, I am just Canadion...’

‘You are the most beautiful ellon I have ever seen,’ Duvainor said.

‘How strange! Because that is exactly what I thought, when I saw you bathing.’

‘Come, what if we explore what you might like me to do, what you might like to do to me. Would you like some wine? It might relax you.’

‘I do not need wine. I need... I think I need you, Duvainor. I need to learn how to love you, how to let myself be loved...’

‘I would like to know your body first, to see your skin once more, to show you my own self.’

It was a slow and gentle introduction, for all the wildness of that first kiss. Duvainor touched, and teased, and silked his fingers across Canadion’s body, and at each touch, a tie came undone, a clasp sprang apart, a garment fell away, and for each of Canadion’s layers, so Duvainor, too, removed clothing. In fact, he was naked long before Canadion was, not shy of his body, knowing its beauty in the eyes of others, but tempering his boldness to accommodate Canadion’s inexperience.

‘So beautiful, you are, Canadion! Your eyes are glorious, and your skin such an enticing shade; you look burnished, gilded, almost...’ Duvainor spread himself over Canadion’s chest, kissing his throat, his neck and trilling his fingers over the glowing skin to light at the waistband of Canadion’s leggings, loosed but still tight over his hips. ‘Will you leave these on awhile?’

‘No, that is... saes, Duvainor, they are... they are strangling me...’

‘Let me help,’ Duvainor said, wriggling and bringing his mouth to Canadion’s navel while he slid his hands inside the waistband and eased the garment down so that Canadion’s erection sprang free with a suddenness that made him gasp and apologise, blushing.

But Duvainor laughed.

‘Ai, our bodies will betray us at every touch and turn, Canadion! Do not apologise, not to me; I know how it is.’

And, indeed, it seemed that Duvainor did indeed know how things were. Although his own arousal was huge and urgent, he pretended to be in no discomfort at all, not before he had shown Canadion how pleasant a hot, moist mouth could be when wrapped around his erection, how shudderingly delicious a tongue sliding over his aroused flesh, how heady and anguished and wonderful an orgasm might prove, when guided by an expert.

‘And you really never found out for yourself...?’

‘I do not think I am that flexible,’ Canadion said, recovering, still gasping. ‘Nor do I think it would have occurred to me to take myself in my mouth...’

Duvainor stifled a laugh.

‘I did not mean that. I meant... at night...’ He rolled onto his back and pulled at Canadion so he was lying on his side, resting on Duvainor’s shoulder. ‘Does not ever your hand travel down...?’

He took hold of Canadion’s hand and drifted it down his own body slowly to rest over his groin.

‘...travel down and touch and fondle and brush against your hot flesh like this... Ai, yes, that is lovely... like this and perhaps encircle... you are so clever, that feels delightful, it is as if your hand knows what to do, and... oh, Canadion, oh, you do not need me to tell you how to stroke and increase the speed slowly, but... and... and if you could... could kiss, at the same time, my mouth, I...’

Duvainor fell silent as Canadion kissed him with eager affection, trying to remember to keep his hand moving gently, trying not to stop kissing as he moved his fingers, and Duvainor cried out against his tongue, and Canadion’s hand was hot and wet and sticky, Duvainor jumping and spasming and clinging on to him, his mouth breaking free to gasp Canadion’s name.

‘Are you all right?’ Canadion asked.

Duvainor laughed, his eyes closed, the long lashes beautiful, fragile, like butterflies.

‘I am more than all right, Canadion, I am wonderful! And you?’

‘Sticky, oh, Duvainor, I am so pleased it was nice for you, but I am so sticky! Is it... does it wash off?’

Duvainor laughed, the laugh turned into a giggle, and Canadion joined it, for it was silly and wonderful that after such intensity and passion and need that they should be concerned about a sticky hand...

‘I will not say, lick your fingers, for it will have grown cold, and...’

‘Ai, Duvainor! That is... is... ew...’

‘Never mind.’ Duvainor composed himself. ‘There is a jug of water over there, a basin with it, and soap. It does wash away, but the sooner after emission, the easier it is to remove.’

‘Cleaner to swallow it, I suppose,’ Canadion said, heading for the washing area. 

‘Yes... but that was not why, pretty-eyes. It was because I knew it was not something you would have done for yourself, even if you had touched... I thought it would be pleasant.’

‘It was lovely,’ Canadion said, glancing over his shoulder at Duvainor.

‘And so are you. Your arse, sorry, your buttocks, such a glorious curve, so soft... now, if you were in the guard, you would lose some of that softness, you would be firm under it... I think I like the softness...but the firmness would feel good, too…’

‘Is it good, being in the guard?’

‘I like it; it is good for me. I am away from home, and since my parents do not see who I spend my time with, it saves my naneth from heartbreak and accusations... there is work, routine, structure, companionship and friends. True, there is always the chance of dying horribly, orcs or wargs or spiders, but then I am good with my bow and the forest is quiet at present.’

‘My naneth just wants us all to go into the family business. It would make sense for one of us to work with my father...Except my eldest brother is a scribe in one of the villages south, and my next brother is not long married and naneth wants them near her. And she will not let me or Baudh go, she says Ada is a bad influence, I do not know why, everyone likes him...’

‘Is that what you want, to go into the family business?’

‘Not really. If I could be with Ada, I might not mind; I seem hardly to have seen him since I was an elfling .’

‘But you could, if you wanted? That is, he does not hate you for what you are?’

‘I did not know myself what I am, Duvainor, until tonight, when I saw you; I… I think he would love me anyway. My brother Baudh… I think he spends his time with ellyn, although he has not said… and Ada likes him, still, so why would he not like me any longer? Except… except I think… oh, my mother would hate it!’

‘Perhaps she already knows, and that is why she keeps pushing her friends’ daughters at you? I am guessing, but it is what my naneth tried to do at first. It was as if she thought I would outgrow my preferences, or that I could choose, even. She says it is what they did, her generation and the one before, and if they had not, there would have been no elflings. But I do not want to force myself into vows with someone I do not care for. Whatever else, Canadion, that would be wrong. And I do not think my parents would like me any better, if I did, even though they say they would. How could they?’

‘I am sorry you do not have your family,’ Canadion said. ‘I cannot bear to think what it would be like if Adar and my brothers turned from me.’

‘And your mother too, of course.’

‘Of course.’ Canadion didn’t sound convinced, even to his own ears. He tried again. ‘Yes, for I am used to her… that is… is it bad of me, that I love her, for she is my mother, but I do not think I like her?’

Duvainor laughed.

‘Not in the least, Canadion. Someone said, once; we can choose our friends, but we cannot choose our families. So. Perhaps it would be best to be careful, and if you keep this discovery of your true self to yourself for a while. Or choose who you talk to. I think…’ Duvainor paused; this was something he knew, but how to phrase it to his new friend. ‘I think you are right about your brother Baudh. Is he the one who works with the horses? Very good with the shy ones, handling them?’

‘Yes, that is he. Sometimes there are elk, and he looks after those, too.’

‘Then I am sure it is he. If you need a person to confide in, he would be a good choice. But have a care you do not burden him with too many of your concerns – there is a thing as too much information, you know.’

‘I suppose… Baudh is like me? I think that is good. It can’t be my fault, then, that I’m like this, can it?’

‘Of course not! Whyever would you think that?’

‘It is more that my naneth will say think that. And she will say it… but if I am not the only one in the family, it won’t be too much of a shock to her, surely?’

‘Canadion, really, truly, it is not your fault. The Valar make us as they see fit; if you must blame someone, blame them!’  
 


	6. The Hard Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Duvainor and Canadion continue their friendship...

It was the third or fourth week of Canadion’s friendship with the beautiful Duvainor, and although all they had done was kiss, and touch, and use their mouths in interesting ways, Canadion had the hopeful feeling it would not belong before they moved on to the next step, the act of love itself. He wondered if it was like with normal couples, that the deed was taken for the word and they would end up vowed when they joined, and he found he thought that might be nice, even though he was a little young, maybe. And Naneth would hate it.

But then Duvainor had been with lots of ellyn, and he didn’t consider himself vowed, so perhaps it was different.

Duvainor played with Canadion’s fingers and began to talk as he often did, explaining, warning, sharing.

‘The others. The older ones; I do not speak prettily to them. I use the human words, hard words, I say I will fuck them, that it is always going to be me, fucking them, that sometimes I might suck their cock... but mostly I will just fuck them and toss them off... they like the words, it is foolish, it excites them further. But with you... when the time comes, I will make love to you, pretty-eyed Canadion with the glowing skin, I will tenderly take you and slide into your body, I will feel the heat and closeness of you around my erection and I will move kindly and tenderly within your beautiful centre, perhaps stroking your arousal, perhaps just holding you and kissing your back, your neck... we, beloved friend, we will make love, not fuck like humans or copulate like beasts.’

Canadion nodded and shook his head at the same time.

‘Such harsh words the humans have for the music our bodies can make. I do not think I would like it if we spoke of... of...’

‘There is no need to speak of it, Canadion.’ Duvainor touched Canadion’s face lightly, caught his lips in a slow and tender kiss. ‘Tonight, if you like...’

‘Yes?’

‘Yes... if you like...’

‘I just… before we do, I must ask… Will we... it will not mean we are vowed, will it? Or would it?’

Duvainor’s expression changed, and Canadion rushed on, unable to read him.

‘I am not suggesting, I... I simply do not know and if it were, then oh, and if not, then well, but... I do not wish to offend...’

But the beautiful green-and-blue-eyed warrior recovered himself with a reassuring smile.

‘No, I am not offended, and I think the tale – that to couple is to become vowed – was put around by the naneths who wanted their children to think twice about who they bed. We are not Noldor, bound by stuffy tradition, remember. Nor are we a traditional couple; that is perhaps one of the few blessings of being as we are, nobody expects us to marry...’

‘Yes, they do,’ Canadion said mournfully. ‘My naneth says me and Baudh had better marry some sensible ellith who know what side their bread is buttered on, and be thankful we have a naneth who knows what it is like, but how can she expect...?’

Duvainor shook his head and grinned.

‘So your mother knows, now? How did that go for you?’

‘It was awful. She… I didn’t mean her to hear, but I had asked Baudh about himself and said I had a friend, and she came in while we were talking… I think… perhaps she was listening in the outer room. Accidentally, for her hearing is very acute, she says. She seemed to have heard almost all of the conversation. I did not mention you, I did not even say I had a… special friend, but it was bad enough anyway… and she still thinks I ought to marry! She talked on and on about urges and being young and impressionable and not having enough to fill my time, and I was far too immature to have settled into my body yet… I do not understand her! I thought… I thought she would threaten to tell Ada, but she didn’t so that is something, I suppose…’

‘Well, what about your father? Does he actually like ellith himself? Other than your naneth, that is?’

‘I do not think he likes Naneth that much.’

‘But you say he is from home much of the time... and they do not get on... and you have said before she thinks your father is a bad influence?’

‘I suppose it is because he used to be with the Elk-tamers in the forest. For all she is Silvan, Naneth doesn’t really trust the forest.’

Duvainor hid a sigh. He had been wondering, from the hints Canadion had dropped, from half-heard snippets of conversation from here and there, whether there was something about Canadion’s much-adored and much-absent Ada that he hadn’t told his youngest son yet. And then, Canadion was so naïve about his own situation, it was no wonder if the idea of his father sharing the same leanings hadn’t occurred to him. But it was a bad time for such a conversation and would quite spoil the mood... and, well, Canadion looked so upset already that he chided himself for such selfish thoughts and held out a hand.

‘Come, let’s get dressed and go for a walk; it’s going to be light for another hour at least, it might soothe your fëa to be in the trees...’

Canadion jumped, and looked into Duvainor’s eyes.

‘I think it would soothe my fëa more, to be in your arms,’ he said. ‘Will you hold me? And… and more?’

‘Oh, Canadion, I will do so and gladly... come, then, let me kiss you, if you are ready? Are you ready for the joy of joining your body with mine?’

Canadion shivered as Duvainor’s arms surrounded him, as his clothes were slowly and tenderly peeled away, and the beautiful lips pressed against his skin, Duvainor’s tongue licking softly and slowly and making him gasp and flinch and whimper.

‘Help me with my clothes, beautiful Canadion, undo my ties, yes, slowly, but not too slowly...’

Duvainor lifted up to pull the tunic off over his head, raising his arms so Canadion saw the stretch of his ribcage, the taut lines of his muscles as he stretched. His hair came free and tumbled around his shoulders and he knelt astride Canadion, his tight, tight leggings tempting.

‘Laces, please?’ Duvainor asked in a teasing, light voice and Canadion fumbled his fingers to comply. ‘Careful! If you knot them, we’ll be here for ages!’

‘Saes... sorry, it seems harder than usual...’

The beautiful ellon over him giggled.

‘You noticed!’

‘Oh, I meant...’

But Duvainor reached down himself and guided Canadion’s fingers into his waistband while he sorted out the knots and slid himself free of his leggings. More experienced, it was the work of a moment to pull Canadion’s own clothes off and he lay, shivering with anticipation, his lips bright and his eyes gleaming, and Duvainor groaned and pressed his hard and naked body against the gorgeous, tawny, glowing body beneath his own, holding and kissing and feeling such urgency...

‘For I do not know what has come over me, Canadion, you are beautiful, yes, and sweet, but oh, I long for you, I am desperate... and although I will make love to you in time, first, please, make love to me, take me, fill me with your wonderful, hard erection... I want you to, I want you, it is time, and it is right that it be you, my beautiful one, my pretty-eyed sweet one…’

‘Yes, I... Oh, Duvainor, I... how, my joy, what do I...?’

‘What do you think? Here is oil... stroke it over me, into me, use your fingers, yes, you will find I am tight, and close, for I do not give myself freely, I have been waiting a long time for a lover, Canadion, and I want you, saes, I need you... Ai! Yes, that is wonderful, slide... oh, love, oh, love, I...’

Duvainor kissed him, wild with his tongue and crying into his mouth as Canadion worked his fingers into the secret centre of his lover’s body, finding yes, he was tight, but he moaned and pressed and writhed so that it felt as if he was ready, softening and relaxing, that he wouldn’t be hurt...

‘Now you, sweet one, now you, yourself, your erection, you must be slick and hard and, oh, you feel amazing... there, no... lie still, let me, let me help... there, yes.. hold yourself a moment, I’m going to... can you feel me, where to go?’

‘Yes, I... oh, Duvainor...’

Duvainor threw back his head with a moan and slid down onto Canadion’s arousal, taking him into his body with slow delight.

‘Now, a moment, you have to wait a moment, always, as big as you are... if ever I beg, don’t listen, make me wait, for I need to adapt to the size of you... ah, but you are wonderful, you feel amazing, love...’

‘And you... so much... more than a touch, but... oh, so... everywhere, all around me...’

‘Yes.’ Duvainor’s breath shuddered out as he repositioned himself with a little moan. ‘Ai, Canadion, so perfect you are, so glad I waited for one as perfect as you... there, that’s it, I am ready... you can hold me if you like, down close, tight, there, at the base, so I don’t come too soon, because I will otherwise, just so much of you inside me, pushing at all the interesting places and... oh, love, love, that’s perfect...’

Duvainor began moving, slowly rocking, undulating over Canadion’s hips, pulling him deep and pushing down against him, his eyes flickering and burning with pleasure. Canadion found his control fleeing in the slow crash of sensation, the spikes of pleasure building in jolt after jolt of delight, only his hand on Duvainor’s erection keeping him from release, feeling a scream of pure, primal bliss tightening in his chest as with a sob Duvainor rocked back and thrust down and ejaculated against the pressure of Canadion’s hand with a cry, his body clutching around Canadion’s arousal to shudder him to a wailing orgasm that had him bucking and thrusting impossibly up into Duvainor, both of them lost in the push and pull until all was spent, and spent again, and reaching for the other in the moment of loss, to cling and hold and shudder and shake in each other’s arms until they were still, and soft, and gentle in the aftermath.

‘I am so glad of you,’ Duvainor whispered. ‘So glad to find someone young, and lovely.’

‘And you, Duvainor, not so old, or so unlovely yourself, you know.’

Duvainor giggled and kissed Canadion’s ear tip.

‘Thank you. And thank you for trusting me, for letting me be your first.’

‘It was my pleasure,’ Canadion said, smiling lazily. ‘Perhaps you could love me like that, next time.’

‘Next time... the time after... sometime... if you like. But I liked having you in my body, I loved how it felt to give myself to you... Well. There are lots of possibilities. We are young, we are healthy, we have time. At least, I hope we have time... you don’t have to go to your naneth’s for supper tonight, do you?’

‘No, don’t worry, I am yours all night, if you want me...’

‘I want you, Canadion. In fact, I do not think I will ever not want you.’

*

After that wonderful, glorious night, Canadion could not get enough of Duvainor, his company, his hair, his bed... and Duvainor would spend every minute away from his guard duties with Canadion, if he could; they were wonderfully, gloriously, potently and outrageously in love to the point where Baudh had to have a quiet word with his little brother about not actually flaunting his love bites at home, but trying at least to hide them from naneth if not from the rest of the palace.

Naneth, however, seemed to have other thoughts on her mind where her fourth son was concerned…

‘My naneth has been pestering again, about work,’ Canadion said one evening in a stolen half hour after Duvainor finished for the day and before Canadion presented himself at home for the night meal. ‘And I asked, could I go and work with Ada, and she said no... but perhaps that’s good, I don’t want to leave the palace, you’re here.’

Duvainor kissed him, hands roving. When he had breath, Canadion went on, for while he would have liked to permit himself to be distracted, he hadn’t just been making small-talk.

‘And then I thought; I am a good shot, I am old enough... why should I not try out for the guard? Or the hunters? Although, if I could be in your company, it would be easier to be in company with you, if you see my meaning...’

‘Canadion!’ Duvainor lost interest in nuzzling his friend’s beautiful throat. ‘You can’t join the guard just because I’m in it!’

‘Oh. I was going to join the guard to escape Naneth making me go into the offices in Dale...’

His warrior friend sat up and shook his head.

‘That’s almost as bad!’

‘No, it really isn’t,’ Canadion said, his voice sad. ‘I love being in the forest, I can shoot well, and I think I could be better; I must work, I must contribute to the kingdom somehow and so why should it not be how I want?’

‘Of course, you are of age, you could just go to your father anyway...’

‘Yes. But it might cause trouble for him. And Naneth gets cross with him, and he stays away for longer...’ Canadion sighed. ‘No, the guard it is. Or the hunters, which do you think is best for me?’

‘In all truth? Neither, Canadion; you are so young...’ It was Duvainor’s turn to sigh. ‘In fact, you are as old as I was, perhaps older... well, I think the hunters would suit you better... but I am in the guard...’

‘Then the guard it shall be,’ Canadion said. ‘How do I join?’

‘Well, you have to try out first. They don’t just let anyone sign up who wants to.’ Duvainor sat up and swung his legs off the bed to rub his hands over his face. ‘You have to try out, and then tell them why you want to be in the guard, and then there is a short period of training while they work out if you’ll be good enough, and where to best put you. Then if they accept you, there’s more training, and patrols and such. At present there’s more need for patrol companies – and this is not to be gossiped over, now – there’s signs of unrest down south and west; humans are settling and squabbling and attracting vermin… so the captains really want people who are good in the forest.’

‘I love the forest!’ Canadion said.

Duvainor nodded. ‘I know you do,’ he said, not commenting on how an untried minor son of a trade family, however much he liked trees and could shoot straight, was a less-likely candidate for the guard than someone, say, whose ada or daerada had served in one of the companies. ‘But time is pressing; do you think you could love me, instead, or would it make you late for dinner?’


	7. Housebreaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor finds himself shut out...

This had never been Merenor’s intention.

He reminded himself that he was known as an affable, genial ellon, always helpful, friendly, one to confide in, to trust. Not give to outbursts of anger, and certainly not given to breaking into his own home...

But the journey up from beyond the south road had been less pleasant than usual, cold and damp and the forest somehow less joyous than before... and ordinarily, now was not the time he would have chosen for a visit, but a letter from his third son Melion to Eregnith, the elleth who helped him in the offices, had spurred him on.

_‘Tell Ada that Canadion passed all the training and he looks wonderful in his uniform, and it is a shame he could not be here for Canadion’s first formal parade, but Naneth explained that perhaps the letters had been delayed, and it probably was not Ada’s fault... hence I write to you, so it is more likely to get to you, for you seem as lucky with the messages getting through as Ada is unlucky…’_

Typical Cullasbes. She had agreed, nay, she had promised that she would let Merenor know of any significant event in his sons’ lives, that was the only reason he had agreed to spend so much time down at the southern offices... and it was also typical that she would forbid her sons from writing to him directly; it was like Melion, though, to find a way around Cullasbes’ machinations, and, being married and living away, he wasn’t likely to have to face her ire in the same way his brothers might...

But what was she thinking, that Canadion joining the Guard wasn’t significant? That his first parade, in dress uniform in front of the Elvenking, a royal acknowledgement of gratitude for service promised, wasn’t important? Ai, it had made his blood boil...!

So he had dropped everything – quite literally, the documents in his hands when Eregnith read out the message tumbling to the desk and the floor, and reached for his coat.

‘I am going out, if anyone asks,’ he said. ‘I may be a little while...’

‘Merenor! Master Merenor, wait but a moment!’ Eregnith had said hastily. ‘It is an hour to nightfall, the forest is not as gentle as it was... if you wait until morning, you will have time to pack...’

‘Pack? Who said I needed to pack? What do you think I have planned, anyway?’

The elleth sighed.

‘Master, I have worked with you for decades now and I am happy here; you treat me with respect and do not ever make a pass at me, you are a considerate employer. I have come to know your ways, a little, and I know you think, if you go now, should any ask where you are, I can truly say I do not know. But I have seen how you miss your family, and any news from home is important to you; I would not have you fall into difficulties in the forest for the sake of a few hours’ preparation. I am quite capable of not asking where you are going, and so I can still claim not to know...’

‘Eregnith, you are a gem of a friend,’ Merenor said, exhaling deeply and bending to pick up the scattered documents. ‘My apologies; you are right. What a mischance, the message going astray... I wanted so much to see him in his uniform...’

‘Well, I am sure you will; perhaps they will let you watch a practice, or such. So, go, I can finish here for the day, sort out your packing and I do not want to see you in the morning!’

Merenor managed to smile at her.

‘Thank you, Eregnith, and goodbye for the moment, then. Your understanding is much appreciated.’

*

Indeed, the elleth’s kindness was a consolation on his way back, and he had ridden hard and as fast as he could without making his horse complain. Still, it was three days before he arrived at the stables, late one evening while most of the occupants of the palace where at supper in the Feasting Hall.

Glad to have his horse taken care of, and more glad that he had time to sneak into his home – his home – before Cullasbes got back, he hurried to the suite of rooms and turned the handle.

Locked. 

Not usual, but Cullasbes did value her privacy and if there was nobody else home...

Oh. But his key didn’t work, didn’t turn, just jarred against his hand.

Tired from the long journey, frustrated and now aggrieved, it was all he could do to squash down his anger and make his face pleasant when he went to speak with the corridor servants.

‘For I am back earlier than expected, and Mistress Cullasbes has locked the door to keep the draught out, I suppose! And my key has stopped working, I wonder, could one of you...?’

‘Oh, Master Merenor! No, the locks were changed two months ago... you do not have a new key?’

‘Dear child,’ he said with a twinkly smile that did not come as easily as it might have done. ‘I have been away for almost a year, how could I have acquired one from all the way down in the south...?’

‘Forgive me, Master Merenor, here, take ours...’

‘No, no need; it is enough if you simply let me into the rooms. And please – if you see my wife, say nothing of this; I would like to surprise her...’

‘Of course, Master... and I will bring you some supper and wine as soon as I can organise it...’

*

Well, perhaps ‘breaking in’ had been too strong a way of putting it, he thought, trying to calm his roiling rage and eat the supper brought for him; he was hungry, after all. And, although it was unlikely, it was just – just about – possible that Cullasbes hadn’t intended to deliberately hurt him by not passing on the news...

He wouldn’t like to bet on it, though.

Voices, in the corridor outside. Cullasbes, her usual long-suffering tones as she complained about something, it didn’t matter what, always she found a topic...

She seemed to be talking to Baudh, which was nice, it meant he wouldn’t be alone with her... but where was Canadion’s voice...?

‘...of all nights, when I wanted to go sit with Mistress Dambes, your brother wants to bring a friend home, and...’

Oh? Which brother? Canadion, perhaps? Caraphindir, he wasn’t in the palace too, was he? It wouldn’t be Melion...

The key in the lock – Merenor having told the servant to lock him in ‘to keep the surprise going for longer...’ – and now the voices louder without the muffling.

‘Well, why don’t you go anyway, Naneth, I...’

‘What’s that smell, why are there dishes on the table, who ordered food?’

Merenor steadied himself and peered around the edge of the settle to grin and wave at his family.

‘I did, Cullasbes! I arrived too late for the formal supper, so the corridor girls sorted me out with something... hello, my dear...’

‘Merenor! What do you think you’re doing, arriving like this?’

‘Surprise!’ He spread his hands and beamed at Cullasbes as if he meant it. ‘Greetings, Baudh, you’re looking well!’

‘Adar! This is a lovely surprise!’ his son said, determined, and Merenor stood up to hug him tight.

‘Thank you, Baudh! It is so good to see you... now, come, sit down with your old Ada and tell me all the news...’

‘You’ll do no such thing, Baudh, your father is leaving...’

‘In fact, I am not,’ Merenor said firmly. ‘With apologies for any inconvenience caused, I am staying for at least three days before setting off again; if needs be, I can beg a bed from the King’s Office...of course, our good scribes will want to know why I can’t stay in my own rooms, my rooms, given to me by the Guild of Royal Elk-Tamers in gratitude for services rendered while working with them in my formative years, but I’m sure I can find a convincingly resolute silence...’

‘No! No! You must not do that!’ Cullasbes said hastily. ‘Consider the damage to the reputation of the business if it seems we are not in accord...!’

Merenor shrugged. ‘Truth to tell, Cullasbes, I don’t care a jot about the business, only about my sons... so, Baudh? How is everyone...?’

‘Everyone... yes, I think everyone is well... Melion is happy, Gilrin expecting again...’

‘Again? They’ve been busy...’

‘Yes, indeed! And joyous, too. Caraphindir, he is still scribing away, nearer to you than to us, Adar...’

‘Well, he is conscientious about his work, and I don’t often hear from him; did he come up for Canadion’s parade?’

‘He did, yes, oh, that was a day! You’d have been so proud, Ada, it’s a pity you couldn’t be there...’

‘Yes, I know; apparently the messages were delayed...’

‘But Caraphindir had his invitation; I thought the same messenger took all the missives south, so surely...?’

‘I would not like to say, son. Still, I am here now. Canadion, does he like the life? So far, I mean?’

‘He seems to; he’s talking about warrior quarters, perhaps...’

‘Which is nonsense!’ Cullasbes set down a flagon of wine on the table with more force than was needed so that the liquid jumped and sloshed. ‘Tiny cramped rooms they have, none of the home comforts! I told him, it is not to be thought of!’

‘He’s making friends in the guard though, though,’ Baudh said in even tones but with dancing eyes that made Merenor suspicious. ‘In fact, he’s bringing one of his friends to visit tonight...’

‘Oh, how nice! Look good in uniform this friend?’

‘Lovely, in fact!’ Baudh said with a grin. ‘Mind, he’d look lovely in anything... or in nothing...’

‘Baudh! Do not say such things, especially not in front of your father. Or Canadion. Or his guests. Or anyone.’

‘That’s you told,’ Merenor murmured shaking his head at Baudh’s grin. ‘And you, how are you?’

‘Beginning to think a career in the guard might be fun myself...’

But just then voices, and Canadion bounded through the door.

‘Naneth, Baudh! I am home, I have brought my friend Captain Duv...’ 

He broke off as he saw his father rising from his hard-won seat at the fireside with a smile.

‘Ada!’ Introductions forgotten, he flung himself at his father to hug him and hold him tight. ‘You are home, how wonderful! I did not know!’

‘It was a surprise, penneth, to make up for missing your big day; I am sorry, messages went astray, so I’m told... but you brought someone in with you...?’

‘Yes, Adar, this is my friend Duvainor...’

With a jolt, Merenor realised he recognised the stunningly beautiful ellon with the long, mahogany hair and the stunning eyes... and it was apparent that the ellon  
recognised him, too, and was in an agony of indecision about how to acknowledge it…

_... years ago, it had been, five at least. Just arrived, knowing Cullasbes would be at home, but not the lads yet, not wanting to face her, he’d gone to bathe, in a certain pool where there was an alcove, just to look… and Duvainor had been in the alcove, pouring water over his beautiful, lithe and strong body... a smile, a gentle invitation and for a moment Merenor had been so, so tempted... but he had apologised, explained, he was not free... the only time he had ever been tempted, but it would have been wrong… Oh, and the look in Canadion’s eyes now, proud, proprietorial... so his son, his beloved youngest child was like him, and this was more than a friendship and poor Duvainor looking so worried..._

‘Captain Duvainor!’ Merenor extricated himself from Canadion’s hug and made a formal, hand-on-heart bow of greeting. ‘In fact, we have met, although you might not remember me; I was back in that part of the palace for the first time in, oh, years, looking around... it was half a decade ago, perhaps longer… I think you thought me lost, and you spoke kindly to me... I am delighted to see my son has made a friend of you, Captain.’

‘Is it true, you know each other?’ Canadion asked.

‘Yes, in fact...’

‘Small wonder if you don’t remember it clearly,’ Merenor said. ‘A brief, chance meeting such as that...’

‘I am sure I do, now you mention it... I should say, there is a strong family resemblance... the eyes, Master Merenor...’

‘Well, this is lovely,’ Merenor said, smiling at Canadion. ‘And you look splendid in your uniform, ion-nin. Are you happy in your work?’

‘Adar, yes, I do not know why I didn’t think of it sooner, it is just the thing, a way to be useful, and to meet people and practise my skills... They say I could do with more forest-craft, but I am happy to learn, and when I told them my Ada had been with the elk-tamers, that helped. But I had to go through testing, and training, and it took ages… and then I discovered that if one were unruly, one could get forced to join the guard to teach you some manners; it would have saved a lot of time… but I did not like the thought of being loud and rowdy and a nuisance, so I had to do it the hard way…’

‘Better for the reputation of the family, at least,’ Merenor said with a wink and a sly grin towards Cullasbes. ‘I don’t think your mother would have liked it, either.’

But Baudh found cups and filled them with good wine, and Cullasbes sniffed and tried to pretend to be a happy wife and loving mother, and the evening passed happily for Merenor, seeing his Baudh so well and relaxed, his Canadion happy and loved and loving, watching Duvainor paying quiet, rapt attention.

‘You will come to the practice tomorrow Ada, won’t you? Canadion asked. ‘It is the last hour before the day meal, my company is on the long ranges and Commander Bregon doesn’t mind if people come to watch us work...’

‘I’d love to, Canadion,’ Merenor said. ‘You always were a fine shot.’

‘Ah, but my Ada made me the best bows in the forest, how could I not be...?’

*

Of course, Canadion was not in his dress uniform, but he looked very fine indeed in his dark grey tunic and leggings as he lined up with the others for practice. He shot wide at first from nerves – but not as wide as most, Merenor thought, proudly watching from the perimeter benches with several other observers. Duvainor wasn’t amongst the archers, but presently, as those practising began to get their eyes in and the scores improved, more and more people came over to watch and a shadow fell on the bench beside him.

‘Master Merenor, may I join you?’

‘Captain Duvainor, be welcome. He’s doing well.’

‘He is indeed, your son is a fine shot... Sir, may I ask, do you mind?’

‘I take it you don’t mean, do I mind him being so splendid...? Of course I don’t mind! I am glad he has found a friend.’

‘I wanted to say, Master, the way you explained our acquaintanceship...’

‘Yes, well, Cullasbes would never have believed nothing happened between us, given the actual circumstances... and who could blame her? I still wonder at my restraint! But I am doubly glad, now, for would you have befriended my son if I had behaved otherwise?’

‘I think it would have been difficult,’ Duvainor said with a smile. ‘He and I could have been friends, yes... but not this manner of friendship, and then, had there been anything between you and I, sir...’

‘I’m glad, then, Captain; you and he together, you will turn heads.’

‘He is very handsome... but that is not why. He has such a sweet nature...’

‘Ai, he was ever a happy child, a cheerful elfling! I... Cullasbes, she knows how I am, of course. It has been the first wish of her heart to make sure I did not unduly influence Canadion’s disposition; all I want is for him to be happy, but having promised his mother I would keep my – ahem - ‘afflicted past’ as she put it – to myself, I am honour-bound not to tell him...’

‘I am sure, from what has been said, that he does not know. Not that he would mind.’

Merenor sighed. ‘No, he might be delighted and that would only distress his mother further... Well. It is a complicated situation and I would not inflict it on you. I sometimes think I should have been more determined against Cullasbes’ wishes, but I was weak in resolve and feared for my sons… but having agreed that I will not mention to them that I have different tendencies, I must say I would be grateful if you would keep the confidence.’

‘Of course, sir, if it will avoid trouble for you and for my friend.’

‘I hope you and my Canadion will be happy with each other, or is it too soon to say that?’

‘We have known each other for some small time; it may be that he joined the guard to make our friendship easier...’

‘In fact, if that is so, then I should thank you, Duvainor. For he did not want to go into the family trade, and he is so good a shot, he is where he is best placed, I think.’ Merenor smiled. ‘We both care for him.’

‘No,’ Duvainor said. ‘We both love him.’

‘Good, then, I know you’ll take care of each other. I’m not sure how it is in the Guard these days, but I think the days when such differences were looked on with tolerance have faded since the heroes of Dagorlad had become fewer...’

A shadow darkened Duvainor’s fair face for a moment.

‘Indeed, so few now remain...’

‘Ai, mellon-nin, forgive me; I have brought you distress...’

The young captain pulled himself together.

‘It is of no matter. Who amongst us does not remember someone from those days? Parent, lover, sibling, friend... we all have lost someone. But look, Canadion is up again... he has such a good stance... Did he learn from you?’

‘Not nearly enough... Sadly, not much at all. I made his bows for him – well, together, we made them, and I showed him how I shot... but mostly it’s down to the encouragement and kindness of one of the tutors, Hunter Celeguel, I think.’

‘Yes, I know of her, she’s in the guard herself now, in another of the companies. No wonder he’s so good, then... oh, look at that! Gold and gold all the way!’

*

Too soon it was time for Merenor to pack up his saddle bags and leave for the south again. Parting from any of his sons was painful, but Melion and Baudh were hugged and released with smiles and dry eyes; it was only Canadion who made him cry and turn away to hide it, to exclaim about dust in the wind stinging his face, wander down the trail a little only to have his youngest son follow him.

‘Ada... it’s fine,’ Canadion said, gathering him up hugging him tightly back. ‘We are all happy and well, I have my new career and new friends... Duvainor is...’

‘I know, I know what you are to Duvainor,’ Merenor said, sniffing. ‘He will take care of you, you take care of him, do you hear?’

‘Ada, I hope that is not why you’re crying...? He is my lover, and we make each other happy.’

‘Of course not, penneth! He is everything I could want for you, handsome and bold and laughing, and thoughtful. I hope you will always be happy together and... when your naneth finds out, I hope it won’t be too difficult for you.’

‘You are very sweet, Ada, so very understanding always! Don’t stay away so long, will you? We do miss you...’

‘Ai, Canadion...! I wish I could be home more, truly, I do. But... Well. You and Duvainor be nice to each other, do you hear me? Just because you are both ellyn does not mean you can’t be fëa-mates, and be happy together, so no silliness...’

‘Oh, Ada! I would like so much...! But he loved someone, who died, and I do not think he will ever feel the same way about anyone again... for now, though, we are content. Happy.’

Merenor made his way to where Baudh held his horse, hid his face as he mounted.

‘Good, that’s good, that’s all I wanted, ever, for you boys to be happy. Well, I must go... be well, Canadion. Melion, my respects to Gilrin, be well. Baudh, you too...’

‘Be well, Ada!’ he heard Canadion calling as he rode off. ‘And do not leave it so long to visit next time...!’  
 


	8. In the Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion settles in to his new career...

Canadion worked hard in the guard, harder than he’d worked at anything, except archery practice. His company captain thought well of him, Bregon, the high-captain who commanded his and several other divisions also seemed to think well of him, and within two years he’d been promoted to the same company as Duvainor – with a subtle caution not to be too obvious.

‘Because though it is known that some people are different, you must leave that part of your life for when you are off-duty do you understand? Sometimes if you’re too close to one person in a troop, you put the others at risk.

‘Yes, Captain Bregon,’ Canadion said, nodding with some fervour. ‘I will behave properly, I promise...’

‘Your new captain is Tundor, so make sure you do; there are those who think you too young for this, so prove them wrong, Canadion!’

*

And he did, or he hoped he did, practising regularly, working hard, being no more than casually friendly to Duvainor in public (as, in truth, Duvainor was to him). He wrote to his father, care of the southern offices, to tell him, and was rewarded by a fulsome letter back, but with no word of when his father would be coming home.  
The letter had been waiting for him when he’d got home from a long day. Baudh, who’d spotted the folded missive and set it aside before their mother could find it, just to make sure it reached Canadion unopened, saw the shoulder-slump of dejection and came to sit next to his youngest brother to offer support.

‘Is all well there, little brother? Not bad news?’

‘No – no, Ada writes that he is well, and glad to hear all my news... you can read it, if you like... he has messages for you and Melion, it will save me time... but I hoped he would be coming home soon, yet he says nothing about it...’

‘Well, there have been problems down that way. Not near Ada, I don’t mean that... but at one end of the road, so perhaps they are discouraging travelling? Or perhaps, if there is no easy trade west, he’s doing more business with those who can’t get to the other trading posts...’

‘I don’t want him to be in danger; he won’t be in danger, will he, Baudh?’

‘Canadion, our ada was roaming the forests before he was of age, he is a fine shot and the forest loves him; he would be perfectly safe even if there were more danger than usual. But you’d know, wouldn’t you? Being in the guard, if there was any risk, they’d tell your captain?’

‘That’s true. It’s just... Oh, it’s been years now, Baudh, and I know that’s no time at all, but... but it’s Adar... and the only reason I’m still living at home is in case he comes back and I somehow manage to miss him...’

Baudh laughed at this.

‘Well, that’s not a problem, really! By all means, take up warrior quarters. Make it easier for you and your friend, too, that way... and if Ada were to arrive unexpectedly, before you’ve had chance to tell him your new address, I would make sure you found out.’

‘Thank you, Baudh... I don’t want to upset Naneth, but only married persons tend to live in family rooms; single warriors are expected to be on call in the regular quarters.’

‘Do you good to get away,’ Baudh said. ‘And I’ll be around, to stop Naneth being too lonely.’

Canadion nodded, and within a week had arranged for a billet, written to his father with his new address, and moved his essentials into the cramped single quarters assigned to him. 

He’d known, of course, how little space he would have, from seeing Duvainor’s room, from time spent there... but the reality of it was something more... it was an inner chamber, too, with no natural light, so everything was lit by lanterns and candles. 

Still, he liked it.

He liked the laughter and easy conversation of the common room, liked the spacious bathing pool, the way you could usually find a time to be private (well, private with your sweetheart) if you tried, or lose yourself amongst a crowd, just let other people’s conversations wash over you with the waters.

Naneth didn’t like him moving out, that was only to be expected, but tried to turn it to good amongst her friends, her youngest independent already, in the guard, a fine career, suited him well... but he knew she really wanted him home so she could continue to parade him to all her friends, those with daughters, at least. Still, she insisted he keep his room there, as if warrior work was just a game to him, as if he would tire of it soon enough. The truth was, he did tend to leave a little trail of stuff behind him, however hard he tried; in his appearance he could be as neat and tidy as you pleased, but put him in a room, however neat, and it seemed to take only moments before there was a little litter of occupation around him. So the minimalist space available to single warriors would soon have looked messy without the luxury of a room at home in which to make a mess without fear of reprisals.

He looked well in his uniform, he knew that, it made him feel taller and stand straighter, and when he wore it he felt he was also wearing a sense of strength and authority, in some small way; although being in the guard was service, in times of danger he would have the right to tell people what to do and where to go to keep them safe.

Even Naneth.

He smiled to himself, careful not to let it show on his face, because he was meant to be paying attention to Tundor, giving a briefing.

‘...nothing to worry about, just an increase in orc and warg activity around the western end of the old Dwarf road there... put it down to an influx of settlers, myself, humankind seeking to expand into the good land between the forest and the river, come up from the south... now, strictly speaking, they’re not in our care – but we have a sort of arrangement with the woodmen and it’s to everyone’s interest to keep the road safe... even if it is the Dwarf road... we have trading outposts further to the east that might be inconvenienced if the humans were killed and so not there to need the goods they bring down from Dale and the east...’

What was that, then, good news, or bad?

‘...but the spiders are increasing again, from the south west, spreading north east, and they bother us all, since each tree is part of the Forest, and we are part of it. So. With that in mind, we’re sending out patrol troops, main objective, control the spiders, report any unusual activity and if we find any orc packs, to make sure they never leave the forest... the wargs we can leave to the Men, or at least, I hope so; we can’t be doing all the work for them, now, can we...?’

A smattering of laughter at this. Tundor grinned.

‘We’re not the only company going out, though; there’s the garrison in Emyn-nu-Fuin where a good number of hunter-warriors are stationed, and one of my tasks will be sending companies out to relieve them as and when. For the first turn, home duty to Elm Troop, while the Beech Troop is in flet patrol and Ash will be marching south. Lieutenants, come and see me for your orders at the end of the day. Well, everyone, to the practice ranges; you might be using your weapons in earnest soon, make sure you’re sharp!’

*

‘It’s all something-or-nothing, they’re saying,’ Duvainor confided to Canadion that evening, lounging together on Duvainor’s warrior-issue bed. ‘The unrest, apparently, is minor… but it’s how the captains found out about… there was a summons from the King’s Office… and, apparently, Lord Arveldir told them that our king’s lady Baralinith has been having… they called them “insights” but what it seems like is visions… they come true, so they say, and she has predicted danger coming, orcs and spiders…’ 

‘And do you believe it, or not?’ Canadion asked. 

Duvainor shrugged.

‘It doesn’t matter what I believe, I just do what they tell me…’

‘But you do believe there are such things? There is foresight?’

‘I haven’t thought about it. I suppose if Lady Baralinith says she has it, I am not going to contradict her… besides, they say her visions make her ill when she tries to chase them down…’

‘That is a pity! I am… through the sisters of my Ada, although Naneth says it is her kin if she thinks she can get away with it, I am distantly related to the princes through the lady. I like her, she is nice. It is sad to hear if she is ill.’

‘Yes, she’s always been fair, except where the elk are concerned; do not mess with the elk, for she holds them dearer, it is said, than her sons… still, for us, it’s not so bad. Home duty, minding the talain inside the perimeter... feel sorry for Ash Troop, a bit; from home for months, perhaps, and who knows what the facilities are like in the garrison?’ He shuddered. ‘But it would be good to do something for real, wouldn’t it?’

‘Have you never?’ Canadion asked.

‘What, killed a spider, shot an orc...?’ Duvainor wrinkled his lovely nose. ‘A spider, once. Well, the troop; so many of us shot at it that knowing who got the kill-shot was impossible... but one of my arrows had taken the sight from one of its eyes... few years ago now, that was. Well. Make sure you practice, lovely one, I don’t want to see your pretty face pale from venom-sickness; it’s not fun, so they tell me.’

*

Home duty was, in fact, not quite the sinecure Duvainor had made it out to be; there was plenty of work for them to do, for Tundor didn’t want them getting slack. So along with training, and touring the region between the inner and the outer perimeter, Elm Troop had the duty of riding escort with any of the populace who wanted to travel to Dale, accompanying them to the hythe where they might beg space on the trading barge, once a week, or riding with them the long way round down to the place below the falls at the southern end of Long Lake, where the elves kept a ferry for just such travellers. Once over the Celduin, the travellers were on their own, but it was a three-day round trip during which the escort guard had to look, and sound, as if they were capable of dealing with any trouble that might arise.  
By contrast, the hythe was just a couple of hours away, and considered an easy duty, but there was no point getting slack; it was also near enough to home that Captain Tundor was bound to find out if his company had been on anything less than top form.

‘I’d almost welcome a tour down south,’ Duvainor admitted after this had been going on for about six months. ‘Just for a change.’

‘Be careful what you wish for,’ Canadion said, laughing. ‘You might just get it.’

‘Oh? In that case, I wish for you, in my quarters, after the meal, preferably out of uniform... out of all clothing, for that matter... and mine until daybreak...’

*

So when, a few weeks later, in a spell of wet and windy weather that made being out and about unpleasant, Elm Troop was swapped with Beech, taking over flet patrol, and Ash came back to base while Beech went to Emyn-nu-Fuin, Canadion laughingly blamed Duvainor.

‘Blame me? You should thank me!’ he said, laughing back. ‘There’s always a spare flet for warriors to bunk down on, plenty of trees to swing a hammock-for-two from... and it’s with Captain Himon, who isn’t a bad ellon to work for.’

It was more what Canadion had expected life in the guard to be, really; patrols in the forest, listening to the life of the trees around, paying attention to the scents and sounds and subtle activity in the undergrowth, amongst the branches. The company split into two, one in the canopy and one on the trail, keeping in touch by whistled calls and making their way from flet to flet to make sure all was well and take back any reports.

‘Some excitement two days back,’ the captain of one such flet said, bored, languid. ‘Small herd of deer flashed through, as if something was after them. We never found out what sparked them off, though, so watch yourselves; it could still be out there. You’re new, aren’t you?’ he went on, nodding to Canadion. 

Duvainor moved a fraction closer.

‘Captain Govon, this is my friend Canadion; he is a fine shot and, if you remember, so am I...’

The captain laughed.

‘Friends, yes, of course... well, I don’t care and my lieutenants both have wives, so stop bristling, Duvainor!’

‘Oh, is that what I was doing?’ Duvainor asked, grinning. ‘Hadn’t realised, myself... ‘

‘Well, welcome to the guard, Canadion; this is probably the worst duty in the forest; you can be assigned a flet and not see home from one year to the next, if they forget about you... or else it’s the best duty in the forest, for exactly the same reason.’

‘How long have you been here, sir?’

‘This flet? Oh, about seven months, this time. Flet duty? Probably eight, nine hundred years...’

‘Really, Captain?’

One of the lieutenants grinned at this, shaking his head.

‘He’s exaggerating, lad. No more than six months here with Tegolon and me...’

‘But he’s about right, eight hundred years or so. We’ve only been here for the last... six hundred?’ Tegolon called down from the branches above.

‘It’s really not a bad life,’ Hador said. ‘The captain here isn’t married, so when Tegolon and I are on leave, he usually gets a couple of newcomers to terrify for a month or so...’

‘Now, you both know I’m not a bad ellon to work for, don’t mind if you take an hour or two to yourselves...’

‘That’s only because we never want to!’

‘Anyway, Duvainor, Canadion, watch yourselves. Tell your troop, be watchful. Just in case. Wouldn’t want two such pretty fellows to run into danger, now, would we?’

*

A day later, Duvainor and Canadion were trail-side when the rising alarm call came from the canopy warriors; they had barely time to nock arrows and take up stations in the undergrowth before the branches overhead stirred and with a crashing rustle a series of long, attenuated limbs appeared and disappeared amidst the branches. Four bows sang, three bodies dropped in spasming agony.

Duvainor laughed as two more bodies fell from above, slain by the elves in the canopy.

‘Well, Canadion, come and see; I think you can claim a kill, there!’

The elves gathered around the bodies, finishing off any of the arachnids that still showed signs of life.

‘I wonder if this is what flushed the deer Captain Govon was saying about?’ their captain said. ‘Well, these creatures won’t be frightening our venison again! It’s a significant number, though, five spiders. All males, which is what you’d expect this of year.’

He stirred the nearest carcass with his foot.

‘Well, retrieve your arrows, and let’s get on.’

‘Captain Himon?’ one of the number began, ‘to whom do you allocate the kills?’

‘Canadion got one; shot through the eye and into the head-brain. Duvainor, I think you can claim the smallest one...’

‘Ai, my deepest thanks...’

‘Angon, you got another... the others, hard to say. They’re dead, that’s the important thing. Come on. Canadion? You’ve got your arrows back, why are you lingering...? Have you never seen a dead spider before...?’

‘Not one that I made dead,’ Canadion said, carefully not admitting, in fact, these were the first arachnids, dead or otherwise, that he’d encountered.

‘Ach, palace elves!’ Angon muttered. ‘Live at home with Nana still, do you?’

‘In fact, no, I have single quarters in the guard accommodations,’ Canadion said. ‘They’re much nicer than living at home, all my mother’s friends seem to have daughters these days...’

This caused a smattering of laughter and lightened the building tensions a little. The captain had followed the exchange and now nodded.

‘Come on, fall in; leave the carcasses, let the forest have them...’ 

As they marched out, Captain Himon fell into step near Canadion, curious as to his history. ‘Well, that was a fine shot, Canadion, well-placed. And I’d never have had you pegged as a palace elf... still. You need to make sure you’re up on your wood-craft... you did the walkabout, I hope?’

‘After a fashion, sir; it was more a family thing, my father and my two brothers went out together...’

‘Oh, a wonderful preparation for a career in the guard...’ Angon muttered. 

Himon ignored him, for the moment.

‘That’s unusual... was there a reason?’

‘My father works away,’ Canadion said. ‘So when he comes home, it is special.’

‘So... rather than miss a visit, you missed a rite of passage instead?’

‘It was more than just, he was home seldom, at the time there were few groups going out around the palace... but Adar, you see, he used to run with the Elk-tamers... so, perhaps I did not leave my name behind and learn the forest anew, but I learned about my family’s traditional role in the life of the forest... Ada left the Elk-tamers, though, when he took vows. And perhaps it was not the usual way of things, but it was a wonderful few days. We shot, and foraged, and ran through the canopy. If you find me at all deficient, Captain, I would be happy to take on extra duty...’

‘We’ll see how you get on, I think. Good shooting back there, though.’

‘Thank you, Captain.’

*

The rest of the tour passed without incident, but not long after they returned to barracks, Himon had a word with Tundor, and Tundor with someone else, and Canadion found himself temporarily installed on one of the guard flets – cover for an ellon who had managed to get spider-sick – which took him away from Duvainor’s side for a moon-month but which did, indeed, teach him a lot about the forest.

‘What, especially, did you learn?’ Duvainor asked as, reunited, they sprawled unclothed across each other in Canadion’s narrow bed.

‘That the night sounds of the forest are generally quite boring. But the ones that are not boring are dangerous, so you can’t really drop your guard when you’re on watch...’

‘Did you slip up?’

‘Not me, I’m glad to say; the lieutenant let herself reverie at the wrong time. I was officially meant to be sleeping, I woke to hear the captain telling her off... apparently, something had found our supply cache in the night. We had two days on lembas before we managed to hunt us some meat. And they were saying the spiders are especially active for this time of year... that the females make nests and the males seek them, but it’s not usually this early in the season. And the spiders are bigger than last year.’

‘It happens, sometimes they have good seasons. There’s a tale they feed on evil, and get bigger in times of darkness, and their webs attract more shadows... I don’t know how true it is, but the more we can kill now, before they breed, the better. The only good spider is a dead spider... or one with a caul. The healers use them, did you know? Very good for burns and cuts, apparently. Of course, it’s not easy to get a caul, usually they’re full of eggs and with the nesting queen near at hand... but if you can bring in an armful of caul-silk, you’re feted as a hero... I think being a hero is a bit over-rated myself, I’d rather not face a queen spider on her nest...’

‘I think I’d rather face all Naneth’s friends and their daughters...’

Duvainor laughed. 

‘Never mind the schemes of the naneths, come here and kiss me again, love; I’ve missed you.’

*

The next few years danced away around Canadion. His father visited once, twice, and on each occasion Duvainor smiled and said, no, family time was important, and Canadion showed his gratitude by not asking what Duvainor did on those evenings while he ate at Cullasbes’ table and stayed overnight so he could spend as much time as possible with his father... in fact, he was so full of the joys of seeing his beloved Ada again that he never thought about what Duvainor might be doing...

In fact, it was only when a casual acquaintance hailed him on his way to breakfast one morning not long after his father had gone back the second time, that he began to wonder at all.

‘Didn’t see you in the pool last night, Captain!’

‘No, Girithon, for I was with my family.’

‘Saw your friend Duvainor, though. Saw quite a bit of him, if you know what I mean...’

Canadion shrugged and turned away. And at first, he didn’t know what Girithon had meant; all he knew was the fellow had a bad reputation, that his bed-practices were unkind, sometimes dangerous, and he was one to keep away from. 

But the remark lingered like the taint of decomposition, spoiling Canadion’s bright mood until he realised what had been meant; Duvainor had been at the pool, perhaps even that pool, the one with the alcove, and had shown his beautiful skin to other bathers.... 

Not given to jealousy, never having loved before, the sharp, suffocating pain that bit at his heart took him by surprise and he sat down hastily on the nearest seat to catch his breath and take stock.

As chance would have it, Baudh happened to be on his way to eat and saw his brother sitting by the wall.

‘Canadion? Are you well? Did you eat already?’

‘No, I’m not... not hungry, oh, Baudh, I have just heard... and I do not know... and it hurts, Baudh, I don’t know why!’

‘What hurts, littlest brother?’

‘...nothing, that’s why I don’t...’ Canadion took a deep breath, wondering why he was so near to tears. ‘Girithon said something, and I didn’t realise what he meant, but it sounded like... as if Duvainor was at the bathing pool last night, which of course he could be, why shouldn’t he? But it was how Girithon said it, sort of... as if...’

‘Making it sound dirty and sly, and not as if Duvainor was bathing at all?’ Baudh said softly.

‘Yes, but... do you know? You went to bathe, didn’t you? Did you see...? No.’

‘I saw Duvainor in the corridor from the west pool with his hair damp, but he was alone, fully dressed, and he greeted me, asked after you; in fact, that’s why I was trying to catch up with you, to pass on his words... in the other pool, I saw Girithon – that one can empty the alcove in the time it takes to drop a towel, he can... so, penneth, I think Girithon was just being his usual nasty self. He’s not even supposed to go to that pool...’

‘No, well, neither are you, really...’ Canadion found a faint smile. ‘Of course, I did not think Duvainor would... but Girithon sort of... he made me think it...’

‘Yes, he’s hardly the nicest ellon in the palace.’ Baudh bumped Canadion’s shoulder, a gesture he’d learned from their father. ‘Come on. If you’re doing warrior things this morning, you need to eat something. Breakfast, now.’

*

After Muster, when Canadion and Duvainor were assigned weapons practice together, Duvainor smiled at his friend as they walked to collect their weapons.

‘And I am glad to have a few minutes with you, my dear. You seem not as cheerful today; I suppose it is because your father has left?’

‘Yes, that’s it,’ Canadion said. ‘Like Naneth says, it’s always Ada’s fault...’

Duvainor shook his lustrous hair and laughed, but Canadion’s smile was so wan that it faltered entirely and Duvainor drew his friend around the corner of the armoury to look at him anxiously.

‘What else is wrong, love?’

‘Nothing, I... you are generous indeed when Ada visits, but you must be lonely...’

‘Well, it’s never for long, and I know you love him. If I could spend such happy hours with my father, I would, and so why should I try to stop you having a good friendship with him?’

‘Someone... stories... nothing exact, just gossip about you, and if I hadn’t been so wrapped up with my family, you wouldn’t have been alone so they’d have no excuse to...’

‘Oh.’ Duvainor’s eyes darkened and for a moment he looked every bit the dangerous warrior he was. ‘One of these days, I shall cut the tongue from Girithon’s mouth... it was he, I expect? I know Norchon wouldn’t, and the others are tied up with each other at the moment so it had to be he...’

‘Yes, he... he didn’t say anything, even, just... just implied... and I know we are special...’

‘Canadion, I care for you, I do! I have been exclusive ever since we first lay together, and I would not, will not look elsewhere simply because you are with your family!’

‘I know, I do, Duvainor, I did not doubt you, I just... it hurt to think he would say that of you...’

Duvainor sighed.

‘Yes, but that’s Girithon; he says things. Because he wants you, or he wants me, or he wants us, and he knows he cannot have us, he makes things up, he speaks them, he tries to make them real in seeming, or he hopes that he will cause us such difficulties that we will break apart and he can pick us off, one at a time... but, love, even if he didn’t tell these tales, still I would warn you about him...’

‘Everyone warns me about him. Well. You. Norchon, even...’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, for he said, he said that you loved someone before, more than me, and he was worried I would not last, and if that happened, not to listen to Girithon, who would take advantage... he said, he was not trying to cause trouble, but that it would be a shame to see me darkened...’

‘When was this?’

‘Oh, I do not know. Not long after we became lovers. I think he is sad, really.’

‘Yes, poor Norchon; no, I mean it. He is dull, and he is clinging, and he is too grateful... but you are right, he is sad. He only wants to love, and be loved, but that does not always happen these days. So many died at Dagorlad, so many were lost, and perhaps his forever-love was one of them, before even he was old enough to know. I pity him, although I try not to, for that is the biggest shame of all, to be pitied. He never was a warrior, and yet only looks at warriors. That he warns you about Girithon now, before there is a risk he can harm you, shows Norchon’s kindness. If only he were a little more determined, a little bolder, he might find real affection from someone. But not from me, I am afraid, even if there was not you, my lovely Canadion.’ Duvainor tucked a loose strand of hair behind Canadion’s ear. ‘So shiny! But, well, yes. I did love one, once. But I could not hold him and I knew he was troubled. But there is me, and you, and we are both young enough, and I do not know now whether he truly was all I thought...’

‘No,’ Canadion said abruptly. ‘Duvainor, it does not matter, we care for each other in our own way because we are our own selves, yes? So if you loved someone else, I am glad. But if he is gone, all that matters is his loss does not hurt you. And I am here, if you need to talk of him. If you can. When you can.’

Duvainor smiled sadly and kissed Canadion’s cheek.

‘You are very sweet and lovely, and kind with your heart. We had better get to practice. But... what would you say if I could arrange for us to take a little tour of duty? Get away from the palace for a few months, new trees for you to sit in? Down towards the south, the Dwarf Road...?’

‘I would say, where you go, I will go, but, south, near Adar’s trading post?’

‘I don’t know exactly how near. But nearer, certainly.’

‘It does not have to be near him; I have just seen him, after all. Yes, I think that would be interesting.’

‘We’ll talk about it more later, then. But you’ll have to be in peak condition with your shooting – it’s not as peaceful as it used to be.’

*

The little awkwardness of the conversation passed. Later, Canadion was grateful they had managed to get through it without it sounding as if he was accusing Duvainor, and he tried to find a way to tell him what Baudh had said without it sounding as if his brother had been explaining or sticking up for Duvainor in some way. There didn’t seem to be one, but he tried anyway after supper that night when they were bathing together, alone in Canadion’s family’s shared pool once everyone else had finished for the evening.

‘I do not know how to put it,’ he began, causing Duvainor to wink and smile and whisper suggestions. ‘Ai, beloved...! later, that will be glorious...! I mean... how to say... after yesterday, the talk we had about...about Girithon, I would not have you think I believed it...’

‘Canadion? I thought we were done with this, I thought you knew, we knew, Girithon is one who confuses his fantasies with reality and sometimes expresses himself with lies?’

‘Yes, I do, of course we are, but... if you...’

_If you find out Baudh talked to me, you might think he felt he needed to reassure me, but it wasn’t like that, he spoke because he knew Girithon for a liar and wanted to make all easy for me, but, oh, it sounds as if I needed reassurance and... and of course I trust you, even if you are the most beautiful ellon in the forest, in the whole of the world, and everyone wants you, even ellyn who don’t like males stare after you with hunger in their eyes and I am just me and..._

‘Baudh saw me at breakfast, that I was sad, for Girithon had just said those things and it hurt, even though I know you would not ever, hearing him say, I knew if it were to happen it would hurt me more than knives... but I didn’t think you would, not for a moment...’

He tumbled out the story, of Baudh saying he had a greeting for him from Duvainor, that his brother spoke of later seeing Girithon, but no, he had not asked, had not... but Baudh saying, did it seem as if he thought other? Because he didn’t mean to, and, oh...

‘It is just making it worse. But I want you to know everything so you know there is no misunderstanding, but it sounds as if there is, still, and I care for only you...’

‘All right, Canadion, yes, I can see in your eyes the truth of that, that you didn’t doubt and don’t doubt.’

‘But you see, I do not deserve someone so beautiful as you...’

‘Ai, melleth!’ Duvainor hugged him. ‘Do you not see? After all this time of lying with the broken ones, trying to be kind, that is exactly what I think every time you hold me; that I do not deserve to be your first, your love, that one day, you... well. Shall we go? I want to lie with you in a tiny bed and make huge love to you.’

Canadion wiped at his eyes, unaccountably wet, and nodded. 

‘I want to hold you so tight that we will never truly be apart again,’ he said, and Duvainor kissed him.

‘Darling Canadion, it already feels to me as if we never will.'


	9. South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion and Duvainor set off on a duty tour...

Naneth wept at the news.

‘My son, going south, into danger! Oh, why did you ever sign up for the guard? And just when Mistress Araspen’s mother is looking for a husband for her... it will do you no good to get killed, you know...’

Canadion held firm.

‘I am in the guard, it is what I do. And if the south is so dangerous, why do you let my Ada work there? And as for Mistress Araspen, I am sure she is nice, but I have no thoughts of marriage at present. And if I did, I would find my own spouse.’

‘Canadion! How very disrespectful!’ Naneth said. ‘When your mother knows what’s best for you, after all I have done to introduce you to nice ellith...’

‘Yes, Naneth, I did not ask you to! No, patrol with the guard, it is my job, and I will do it. I cannot choose. Just like it seems my father cannot choose...’

‘Leave him out of this!’ Cullasbes said. ‘And do not blame me if you come to grief; I never wanted you to be in the guard anyway!’

‘Well. I only came to let you know from courtesy; I will be fine. There are rumours of orcs, no more than that, just a little band. Nothing we cannot handle.’

*

‘Nothing we cannot handle,’ Captain Himon said at muster when the company gathered ready to march. ‘But it’s not a jaunt in the woods either. Rumours of orcs are never simply rumours; they will be there, somewhere, and we must be alert to them. Learn to listen to the voice of the forest, if you have not already. And we will need to be alert in the canopy, too; they say orcs are foul creatures, but so are our spiders, and there is talk that arachnid activity increases when orcs are in the area; I do not know, perhaps they like the black blood better than ours...’

‘I would like to think so,’ Angon muttered from the back. 

‘Well, wouldn’t we all? We could just let the spiders do our job for us and then catch them while they’re bloated and sleepy... except they are another enemy to watch out for, first. And I do not think the orcs would attack the spiders unless provoked; they are too bent on killing elves...’

It was an uncomfortable thought, the notion of ‘killing’ when applied to themselves... the captain nodded, seeing his company suddenly stand more still, more silently.

‘Yes, so to make sure the killing happens to other creatures, and not to good elves, we’re being joined by Ash Company when we get to the first way point, so let’s be moving out...’

A three hour march along good, broad trails to a glade with a dozen or so flets arrayed in the trees around, used for just meetings or for training close to home but not too close, and Ash Company waiting for them there. Their captain handed them over to Himon’s care, himself to head back to the barracks with his second for a round of training exercises amongst the new recruits.

But the members of Ash Company were known to them, a good enough troop, and they made a brief, convivial rest of it before pressing on. 

Duvainor kept near Canadion’s side, and the discipline of the march was no so much that warriors were forbidden to talk amongst themselves, which made the time pass well.

This part of the forest was new to Canadion, and more than one of his new marching companions helpfully told him what they knew of it, quite often finishing with an invitation to explore later, if he liked.

‘Thank you,’ Canadion said, realising after the third such invitation that it was, perhaps, not simple good manners. ‘May I bring my friend, too?’

Duvainor laughed. ‘Oh, I have heard tales of our friend here, Canadion! I am sure he would enjoy taking us both on, given the chance... Except we do not share, Lognaer, sorry.’

Lognaer sighed. ‘Well, you can’t blame an ellon for trying...’

Canadion was impressed by the trees here, they were larger and darker, more oak than anything, strong and sturdy. 

‘I do like an oak,’ he said. ‘Even though it isn’t my tree, as such...’

‘Oh, you flirt, Canadion!’ Duvainor said with a grin. ‘Mine is copper beech, however do you dare admit such a thing to me?’

‘Well, I have never ridden the breeze from the canopy of a copper beech, after all. Perhaps you can show me, one day?’

‘Yes, I would love to ride you in the canopy, love,’ Duvainor said, dropping his voice. ‘To hear the soughing of the branches and the sighs of you in my arms... it would be perfect, I think.’

*

A few days later, Duvainor had his chance. They were within a day of the road, now, on the western side of the forest but not towards the region where orcs had been reported. As the companies had progressed, the captain had left elves stationed at the watch flets, three to each, a few hour’s run apart. Now they had reached a good, thick cover of deciduous broadleaved woodland amongst which a tight copse of copper beech made glorious, dark contrast with the greens of other foliage.

‘Volunteers, then, to occupy the watch flet here...? Duvainor, yes... Canadion... I suppose you two know how to work together...?’

Canadion tried not to nod too fervently; they were actually very good together, but in ways he hoped the captain couldn’t imagine.

‘A third, for the flet..? No, not another two, another one...? Angon? No?’ 

The captain rubbed the back of his neck. By rights, there should be three to the watch, and Angon and his friend were able, but they did not want to be separated and he couldn’t spare two elves here... besides, Angon still sneered at young Canadion, calling him nought but a palace elf and no use… except Canadion was almost as good a shot as Duvainor, who was an excellent shot and a bold warrior, young though they both were, and they were a couple, for all they tried not to show it... but together long enough they wouldn’t be distracted by attraction, yet might like the luxury of a time together alone... and it wasn’t as if the rumours suggested trouble here…

‘Very well. Duvainor and Canadion, hold this flet here. We’ll continue on, cross the road, and establish a watch there. The rest of us will press on towards the area of the report; you should have us back in four days. Keep alert, now. Right, we’ll break for an hour while you check and replenish your water and food cache.’

*

Left alone together in the flet, Canadion put his back against the trunk of the tree and smiled at Duvainor.

‘This is nice,’ he said. ‘You. Me. Our very own flet...’

Duvainor laughed and shook his head, his hair shimmering in its braids.

‘You temptation, you! Yes, it is, it is very nice... and later... but first, we must go through the duty points...’

The duty points were a simple checklist of things they were deemed to need to know about the flet before they could properly begin t heir guard duty. It was, at times, basic.

‘Point one,’ Duvainor began. ‘Which way is north?’

Canadion sighed and rolled his eyes, but pushed away from the tree.

‘The flet is always oriented to the cardinal points. The front right corner of the guard rail is marked with blue dye...’

‘And that shows...?’

‘That shows north. South is marked in white, East in yellow, West is red. Thus if one colour is obscured by mischance, orientation can still be ascertained by examination of the other posts.’

‘Excellent, good. The nearest water?’

‘There’s a stream half a mile east; the sign for water is on the yellow corner with the distance marked.’

‘Yes, I see the marks... food is in the cache amongst the roots on the.... north side.’

‘I see the sign on the post... there’s also a mark for deer, so we could shoot our dinner, if we must. I like this tree, Duvainor, it has a very soothing song...’

‘Don’t let it soothe you too much, lovely, we’re on duty, remember?’

Canadion laughed. They were officially finished with the first section of the Duty Points; all that remained was to familiarise themselves with the tree.

‘I’ll go up first,’ he offered.

‘All right. Not too high, and remember, we are not near the palace any longer; the tree will not know you by name, and there are things that lodge in the deeper woodland than we see near home...’

Canadion nodded and laid his hands on the trunk of the tree, allowing his awareness to slide forward into the bark in an attempt to connect with the life of the oak under his hands. Its patterns were slow, measured, but he thought he felt an acknowledgement, and so he tried in his mind to form the shape of a question about what might be living in the canopy above. In response to his mental query, he got a sense back only of little, buzzing things, of swift, tickling feet, of birdsong high and small and shrill.

‘Squirrels, and butterflies, bees and songbirds,’ he said aloud, his voice slowed from connection with the tree. ‘Other laughing thoughts were here, but gone. No big life around us at the moment...’

‘Well! That’s more than I asked for, Canadion, but I’m impressed,’ Duvainor said. ‘Always, of course. Well. Up into the canopy with you, then. But slowly!'

Canadion smiled and leaned in to the trunk for a moment, signalling intent. Once sure the tree had time to understand, he reached for a branch above his head, grasped it with care in his long, strong fingers and pulled himself up, almost walking up the trunk. Standing on a bough above the level of Duvainor’s head, he glanced up into the canopy.

‘It is a very well-laid out tree,’ he said. ‘It seems to have arranged its limbs with thought for those who might climb amongst them. I will go a little further.’

The tree was used to him now, and seemed to help, obligingly reaching its branches down and round. Once it pushed him away from his chosen route; he frowned, but allowed the tree to guide him, and soon saw why; a squirrel’s drey nestled close to where he would have passed.

‘Ai, and they tickle, so you do not want them disturbed, yes?’ he murmured. ‘Very well.’

Mounting higher, he found himself at a branching of the main trunk as the canopy flattened out. Here was more insect life; small spiders, no bigger than a fingernail, butterflies with glorious azure wings, flies and buzzing things busy about their lives. A breeze filigreed through the leaves and slender twigs lacing the ends of the branches, and he sighed and allowed himself to flow into the life of the tree and absorb its sense of being.

Here, linked to the oak’s patterns, he could see beyond it into the forest, share the signals it read from the surrounding trees. All in the immediate vicinity was calm, at least as far as the oak was concerned – which meant no threat from large arachnids at present.

Of course, they could, and did, move swiftly when the need arose, but still, he should be able to hear a warning with plenty of time to prepare, were they to be over-run.

He shuddered at the thought, the bodies of the spiders killed in his training march rising up to haunt him.

‘Canadion? Are you well?’ Duvainor called up, his tone anxious, and Canadion wondered how he could know of the shadow that had crossed his fëa. 

‘I am fine, all is well,’ he called back. ‘I’m on my way down.’

Allowing the oak to choose his line of descent, he slid and slithered through the boughs until he was once more on the branch just above head-height from the flet. 

Duvainor opened his arms and Canadion jumped down to let himself be held and hugged.

‘I thought, we are on duty, we are working, Duvainor...?’

‘Yes, and we are, sorry, I just... your fëa went dark, I felt it through the tree... what was it?’

‘Nothing, really. Just the thought of the spiders we killed... and thinking, we may meet more. Although all seems clear, it... made me think.’

Duvainor shrugged and reluctantly released Canadion.

‘Ai! Much though I am glad to be private with you, it makes me wonder if we would have been better with others to share the duty...’

‘Angon would not.’ Canadion’s voice was softly shameful. ‘He despises me.’ 

‘He is a fool. It is true, you are not a proven warrior, you cannot claim to have had the decades of experience he does... but that does not mean you are not able. There is not another in the troop, my friend, whom I would trust more than you with my safety. And I hope I can make up by my experience any lack of your own... no, do not smile so, I meant... I meant in the guard...’

‘I know, forgive me.’ Canadion sighed, serious again after the moment’s brightness. ‘Perhaps we should have been left nearer to the palace, if we had to be left...’

‘The captain knows what he is doing,’ Duvainor said firmly. ‘Well, I will go and introduce myself to the tree now; you can make camp for us.’

Making camp on a flet was easier than amongst the undergrowth on the forest floor; it consisted of unpacking the bedrolls and unfurling them across the planking, finding provisions and setting them ready for Duvainor’s return. Under the canopy the air was warm, the leaf cover was thick, and so there was no need for tents or to roof in the flet against the weather; they were more than adequately sheltered from except the most torrential of storms.

‘The tree senses no disturbance other than that of the troop’s passing,’ Duvainor said, returning to sit beside Canadion on his bedroll. ‘And all is peaceful. There is an hour of daylight left before the gloaming, and so I feel confident to declare you may have that hour for your personal requirements…’ He gave his beautiful, enticing smile. ‘And I think I will risk taking some time off, also. We can spend it together, if you like?’

‘I should like that very much… but we are supposed to be on guard…’

‘Yes, which is why, while it is bright daylight, while the tree is awake enough to keep watch on our behalf… You can keep your eyes open, if you’re worried…’

Canadion laughed.

‘What, and lean over the side rail keeping watch while you take your pleasure in me behind? It sounds… interesting, as long as we can reverse roles later…’

‘Ah, I was thinking, the adjacent beech, there’s a lovely spread of branches, you could lie down and…’

Despite being alone but for the tree, Duvainor leaned in to whisper, his breath hot and enticing on Canadion’s neck and ear, causing him to giggle, and wriggle, and put his arms around Duvainor’s neck, very much off duty, suddenly, and exposing his throat for it to be kissed and nuzzled. Swept up in his friend’s strong arms, Canadion found himself borne off into the adjacent canopy where there was, indeed, a happy arrangement of branches crossing over and around, broad enough, safe enough to spread out, to disrobe, to lie back and watch the filtering sun glazing the leaves above…

…soft, slow sensation, a dreamlike quality to the encounter, as if it were special, as if… the build of passion, lust and… and love, that was it, that was the sense that wrapped Canadion so close, that held him so tightly, that whispered and whimpered and made his skin sing, that was sighing all around in the branches, and Duvainor tried not to cry out his name, and Canadion held him close and Duvainor, how he loved Duvainor, how…

‘…love you, Duvainor, beloved one, my joy, my light in the trees…’

‘Ah, my beautiful Canadion… you are so much to me…’

Duvainor cradled him in his strong arms, looked down with laughing, teasing eyes.

‘I knew you would be more beautiful than ever here, in this setting, it is as perfect as you. Come though, love, time to dress, and put duty on again.’

Canadion smiled and reached for his clothes, sliding into them with a sigh.

‘Thank you, Duvainor… I suppose we must keep a watch?’

‘We must. But we can eat together first, and then if you want to rest for an hour, I’ll be lookout. Although I think the only thing worth looking at will be you.’

It was simple food, such as could be easily carried and safely cached at need; waybread, dried fruits, cured, hard strips of venison, but shared with Duvainor on their private flet, it felt like a banquet. Canadion felt his heart swell with love and his fëa sing… Duvainor loved him, he was sure of it, and as for his feelings for the brave and beautiful ellon with eyes made more lovely by the hint of sadness in his soul, well, they were becoming deeper and stronger with every passing day; it was something beyond the physical connection of their bodies, he really felt as if his fëa was reaching out towards Duvainor’s, as if, perhaps, they would be each other’s forever.

‘Do you feel it, Duvainor, my joy?’ he asked. ‘How the love we share is growing?’ and Duvainor smiled.

‘I know you are beautiful, and you make my heart laugh, and you fill my senses, Canadion. And for me, I had not thought so much would ever be for me again. So, yes, I feel how close we are tangling ourselves, our souls. I cannot help but fear it, a little, even as I desire it, for… well, you know how it has been for me… I am in love with you, I want to give myself up to you, and to the future, to forever at your side…’

Canadion held his breath, but Duvainor continued.

‘…but you are young, and I am your first love, and while I may be your always love, I do not want to hurry you into commitment. It is the one thing I was grateful for, after, that my dead hero had waited, made me wait, that we had been sure.’

‘I am sorry, Duvainor, to remind you of your loss. I… I have lost nobody. Perhaps I am fortunate, but it means I have had nobody to lose… yes, you are first with me. I suppose… I am young, I can wait with you until I am no longer young, if you need me to, I… we do not share, so it is all right.’

‘It is more, what your parents would say if you were to bind yourself so young, and to an ellon…’

‘Ai, Duvainor! You do know how to spoil a mood! Yes, Naneth would hate it, and I do not know what I would be able to do or say to make her see… I do not think she knows about you and me together, I think… my brother Baudh, she purses her lips at him when she thinks he isn’t looking, but he is hard-working and I believe he is not in love with anyone… I think he just has friends he can go to… surely Naneth would not mind so much, if it was just one person?’

‘Naneths are strange things, Canadion. She might think, “oh, he is just playing, he has not met his forever love yet, and perhaps he is doing it to tease, perhaps there is, somewhere, an elleth he would want to bind to…” I think it is unlikely, I have seen your brother with his friends, and I am sure an elleth would never suit him. But it might be your mother’s hope, and while he has many casual friendships and no abiding lover, it may be easier for her to refrain from expressing her dislike.’

‘What… what will we do, Duvainor?’

‘Whatever pleases us, Canadion; we are of age, after all, and we did not tell our parents what to do or who to love; they wanted us, they asked for us, they should respect our wishes…’ He sighed, knowing it would not be that easy, not wanting to scare off this jewel of an elf who was so in love with him and who had brought him such unexpected comfort. ‘Or we ask for a remote posting; Emyn-nu-Fuin, or Lórien, perhaps… sometimes, exchanges take place, we could spend a couple of centuries there easily enough, if we had to… if it was too much to expect from our families to support us…’

‘I do not think my Ada would mind; he said, he wants us to be happy, whatever that means for us.’

‘Ah, well, parents often say things and think they mean them. Well, never mind that now, Canadion. I think I can kiss you goodnight, just lightly, and then it is time to set the watch.’

Canadion settled down, his heart reeling… Duvainor was in love with him, enough to hope to make plans! And all his worries and concerns were quite understandable, after all… Canadion could wait until Duvainor felt safe. There was plenty of time, was there not?

And full of the wonder of being in love and having the most beautiful ellon in the world in love with him, Canadion opened his eyes and went to sleep.


	10. Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the peaceful interlude becomes decidedly less peaceful...

The night passed, watch by watch. The stars prickled bright in the sky, the moon rose and dimmed them, Duvainor woke Canadion, Canadion woke Duvainor and was woken in turn again.

‘Pre-dawn already, Lieutenant,’ Duvainor said, for that was how you styled yourselves on a flet, Captain and Lieutenant, by seniority. ‘A quiet enough night. Give me an hour, then wake me.’

‘Yes, Captain,’ Canadion said, smiling.

But when he came to wake Duvainor, he had news for him.

‘The trees are anxious,’ he said. ‘Something has alarmed them, some way to the west… it is not near, but it is not something to ignore, either.’

‘Well spotted, Canadion. I’ll go up into the canopy, after breakfast. But you’re right; the air is brittle with distress pheromones from the chestnuts we passed two days ago. Flighty things, worry about anything, but in this case…’

When Duvainor came down from the canopy, he shook his head.

‘I thought you said west; I’m getting chemical distress signals from the north…’

‘It can’t be both…’

‘It can, if it’s not one thing, but two things. Well… it’s not anything certain, the trees… we probably have time to catch up with the others, if we leave now, if we hurry… but if the danger is from the west, we’d be exposing ourselves to it when we cross the road… and if from the north, we risk leading the danger onto the company…’

‘Could we signal the next flet? Or the last one?’

Duvainor thought for a moment, then shook his head.

‘No, not without knowing what it is… we might alert any enemy to our whereabouts, or theirs. We’d best sit tight, I think, until we know which direction it is, north or west… and hope it isn’t both.’

Morning passed and noon crested overhead. To all intents and purposes, all was well, outwardly, in the forest and to a casual eye nothing was amiss. But the bird song faded to rare alarm calls, the trees began to rustle out of time with the breeze and finally, mid-afternoon, Canadion shook his head.

‘Captain…’ he began.

‘I know,’ Duvainor said. ‘The tension grows no less. I’ll just slide over into the beech there, see what it has to say for itself…’

Duvainor was gone ages, it seemed. But by stretching out his thoughts, Canadion was sure he could touch his friend’s presence. It made him smile, thinking the bond between them was so deep, and gave him reassurance that all was well.

Even so, he was glad when Duvainor finally returned.

‘Well?’ Canadion asked when his lover-and-Captain leapt onto the flet.

‘Well, Lieutenant…’ Duvainor stressed the title. ‘I want you to lay your hands on this tree, and open yourself to it. See what you get.’

‘I… but, I am not yet fluent in Tree…’

‘I know. This is something you only learn by doing, Canadion, even if you have an aptitude for it. I just want to see what you get; don’t worry, it’s not a test, there are no right or wrong answers…’

Nervous, suddenly, perhaps because of Duvainor’s words, Canadion laid his hand on the trunk of the tree, above where it branched for the canopy, trying to project his awareness through the thick bark. He opened his mind as he did so, trying to stretch his senses wide, to listen with parts of him that were without hearing…

…for a long moment, nothing. But then the ebb and flow of the life of the tree, the surge of sap, the great movement upwards… now connected, he tried to think a query, to form a question – was there danger? What brought it, wind or trail, canopy or…?

He gasped. A sudden vision flourished behind his eyes, a sharp, acrid scent, a tremulous, shaking fear…

‘Ai, it is both…!’ he cried out, trying to keep his voice soft. ‘Hating-Thoughts from the trails west, spiders coming through the canopy to the north… many spiders, too many spiders… Ai! Duvainor, my Captain, what is too many spiders…?’

Canadion disengaged from the tree, thanking it with a stroke of his hand, while Duvainor laughed softly. 

‘With your bow skills, and mine, there is no such thing as too many spiders…! Yes, though, that’s what I was told, too. I went beyond the beech, asked a sweet chestnut, too… Not many orcs, not as many as there are spiders… about an hour away, it looks as if they’ll converge close to our position, perhaps too close… well, what to do…? Suggestions…?’

‘I do not like how many spiders there are; we can shoot or evade a few, but if there are orcs on the trail beneath us, it is less easy to do that… and the spiders might draw the orcs after us… is there time, do you think, to cross the road and catch up with the next flet?’

Duvainor shook his head.

‘Normally, I would say, yes. But we’re not stationing at every flet, it’s probably three hours to the next watch position… now, we could probably do it, if we run through the canopy… but the haste would alert the spiders, and we would have to cross the road where the canopy is thinnest; we would be exposed, visible to anything on the trail, even if just for a moment…’

He frowned, looking off northwards into the forest, then glancing to the west.

‘I have a thought… we could get high in the canopy to meet the spiders, perhaps draw them towards the orcs… if we can set them on one another, then we should be able to avoid the worst of the fight. Meanwhile, calls won’t carry far enough to the next watch post, we will have to send word through the trees; it is imprecise, I know, but it is the best message we can send, short of ourselves…’

‘You do it, Captain, you are better at treespeak than I am.’

‘We both will, by turns, same message; Alert call: Hating-Thoughts to the setting sun, spiders on the homeward direction. You take the home tree, I’ll send through the beech. Then we regroup, check our weapons.’

Canadion leaned against the tree again and sent out the alert, focussing all his emotions into it, pushing fear and alarm into the message, although he was not really afraid. Not properly.

Not yet.

Once he had done, Duvainor slid over into the beech tree where they had made love the evening before; Canadion’s eyes lingered on his lover for a moment, but then he shook off his improper thoughts and focussed instead on his weapons; two knives in his belt, long and short, a double filled quiver… he checked the weapons cache and drew out the spare arrows from within; the thick of a spider fight would not be a good time to run out of ammunition.

‘Well done, Lieutenant,’ Duvainor said softly. ‘I must confess, I don’t like this… perhaps we should decamp after all…’

‘Where to? All we can do is run before one enemy or the other, or both?’

‘That’s true; we can outpace the orcs easily enough, head west for a mile or two… but the reports said more orcs south of the road, and where exactly… we don’t want to run from one troop straight towards another…’

Canadion gasped as the breeze brought fresh scents to them.

‘The spiders are moving swiftly, suddenly; can you feel it now, in the trees?’

Duvainor nodded. A bitter, sharp tang to the air from the north carried on the breeze.

‘It’s too late, then, to run. I am sorry, Canadion, I should have ordered us to leave at the first sign of disturbance… But it could have been nothing, and I would not have had them think us foolish, afraid for each other...’

‘It is not your fault; there should have been three of us. And that is my fault, for Angon…’

‘We are better without his clever nastiness.’ Duvainor turned swiftly, drew Canadion into his arms and kissed him fiercely. ‘For luck, my bright one.’

‘I can hear them! Orcs, on the trail below…’

Harsh voices, the chink and clank of metal. Orcs on the path, shouted orders. Duvainor brought his mouth close to Canadion’s ear to speak low.

‘Small troop, not more than a dozen, probably scouts. I’m going to leave you here… if spiders come, you attack them, not the first in the group, aim for one three or four bodies back, it causes more confusion. But make it a kill shot.’

‘Aye, Captain, but...’

‘I’m going to do the opposite to the orcs; going to shoot to wound, make them shriek and bleed. Not arrows; blow pipe and darts, harder for them to see… Draw the spiders to the scent of blood, right? Once the spiders turn off towards them, focus on the orcs. Clear them up, then pick of the spiders. Good plan?’

‘Wonderful plan.’

‘Good luck then, Lieutenant. If you get into difficulties, you know the bird call sequences.’

And Duvainor was gone, leaping across the branches towards the approaching mayhem of orcs.

*

At first it seemed to go well. Canadion climbed a little way into the canopy to listen for the approaching spiders, marking their direction and growing alarmed at how much disturbance they were causing; it looked as if an entire colony was migrating to judge from the alarm of the trees... but there came a satisfying chorus of shrieks and curses from the road, and the main thrust of the arachnids seemed to turn, head towards the sounds…

A warning call, and Duvainor was on the flet with him again, laughing and bright eyed with excitement.

‘It’s working, look!’

Canadion came back to the platform and crouched amongst the foliage, arrow nocked, looking where Duvainor indicated. Not a hundred yards away, the orc troop was under attack from the spiders, arachnids varying in shape from huge to gigantic dropping down on silk ropes to reach and snatch at the orcs. Three of the enemy were already wound in silk, struggling, and others fought with rough, broad blades and howled and yelled their rage.

Answering yells from the east and Duvainor grabbed Canadion’s arm in horror.

‘More orcs!’ he gasped, and with dismay Canadion looked along the trail to where sounds of rapid approach suggested a second orc pack. ‘How could we miss them?’

‘And a bigger troop… Duvainor…! What are we supposed to do…?’

‘Well, we’re supposed to have another archer with us… Ai, Valar…! Target the orcs, I think. As soon as we start shooting arrows, the new orcs will know we’re here and mark our position… at least the spiders are keeping half of the orcs busy…’

‘But not all the spiders, Duvainor…’

Sure enough, while many of the giant arachnids had gone to investigate and were launching tentative attacks on the orcs, the remainder of the migration was now heading towards the flet…

‘Very well. We deploy in alternating formation. You’re shooting at spiders, away from the road… I’m taking orcs down with darts for as long as we can; that way, they might not spot us at straight away, especially not while the spiders are keeping them busy…

With the trunk of the tree between them and keeping their backs to it, Canadion and Duvainor took up their proper positions; Canadion down on one knee to look up into the canopy, Duvainor standing, his green and brown uniform merging him in against the foliage as he sighted his blowpipe down towards the trail.

‘At will, then, Lieutenant. Once the orcs become aware of us… good luck.’

Canadion found the spot between the leaves where a moving, rounded shape suggested a spider’s abdomen; he sighted ahead of it, working out where its head would be, released his shot, nodded satisfaction as a crash suggested a kill shot. Below, on the trail, was a yell as Duvainor’s dart hit home. Yells of rage and the orcs were shouting about elves, somewhere…

‘That’s it, then,’ Duvainor said, a tremor in his deliberately calm voice. ‘Alternate your targets now, canopy and trail.’

‘Aye, Captain.’ 

Knowing Duvainor already had the original troop in his sights, Canadion looked to the newcomers, still hastening along the track. The smell reached him first; dank, dark, as if they’d already died and had been rotting for a week. He wrinkled his nose, took aim, and shot through the leaf cover to take out a tall orc some three ranks back… three ranks! This was a big company…

But the orc had dropped, clutching his throat, and Duvainor chuckled softly.

‘Three and one,’ he said.

‘One and one…’ Canadion nocked another arrow, shot again; the orcs had flowed around the body of their fallen comrade and were spreading into the forest, trying to see where the elves had shot from. ‘…two and one…’ A surge of acid from the tree, and he swung around to see the arachnids almost on them. He shot once, twice, swiftly, and was delighted when one spider fell immediately, a second screeching before it, too tumbled.

‘Ai, if only it had fallen on the orcs…!’

‘Nice shot…’

Suddenly they got busy, too busy for banter. Periodic yells, the hiss of arrows in the air told Canadion Duvainor was firing with success into the orcs. Spiders suddenly rushing towards the flet kept him occupied with a flurry of shots; at one point, the ugly maw of an arachnid pushed through the leaves, far too close, and Canadion stabbed it in the face with the arrow he’d been about to nock, causing it to recoil while he reached for his knife to plunge it through the central eye and into the forebrain. It wailed and twitched, falling.

‘They have spotted us,’ Duvainor called out as an orc arrow whistled up past the flet. ‘Keep your nerve, Canadion…’

‘Aye, Captain…’ 

The spiders had withdrawn, at least for the moment, he nocked his arrow again and sighted for an orc-head; the trees were helping, crowding together to herd the orcs onto the trail, signalling fear pheromones that helped Canadion find his target. A hail of stones with one or two arrows amongst them showered the flet, and he had to duck and slide around the trunk of the tree to avoid being hit. Perhaps fortuitously; in the next tree over, three spiders were resting in the fearful stillness they adopted before a spring… three arrows, left, right, centre, as fast as he could, two kill shots and the third enough to make the creature shriek and curl up defensively. 

An alarm from the foot of the tree; glancing down the trunk, Canadion saw an orc looking up, trying to find a handhold to climb up, a black-bladed knife between its fangs. Canadion’s arrow hit between its eyes and it crumpled, the sound of its fall overlying a dull thud from behind that Canadion dismissed as unimportant.

‘I’m down to my last few arrows, Captain…’

Duvainor didn’t answer. Canadion thought nothing of it at first, shooting down at the orcs who seemed, at last, to be retreating, hurling stones and firing arrows from their ungainly bows as they went. 

‘Captain? They’re fleeing! We have them on the run, or the spiders, have…!’

He glanced over his shoulder, looked again. Duvainor was lying towards the edge of the flet, head hanging over, and Canadion felt a hit of panic; the noise he had heard, could it have been his friend falling...? But before he could go to help, a chittering and hissing of rage from above and suddenly a half dozen spiders pushed down towards him…

He yelled, pulling out his knives, stabbing and slashing, standing defensively over his captain… it must have been one of those stones, the slingshot… another face hissed at him, mouthparts spreading obscenely wide, fangs dripping venom and his yell was more of a shriek as he slashed at it, pushing it away with a shoulder as he spun to knife another in the eye, whirling back to stab another… 

(Duvainor was all right, wasn’t he…? Just stunned. Had to be… he’d know if… he’d know…)

Legs, reaching for him. He shrieked, panic building, and he shuddered as he lashed out, severing the claw and lower forearm. Off balance, the spider lurched towards him, clacking, and he stabbed with the knives, stabbed and stabbed… had to protect Duvainor, unconscious from a hit by an orc slingshot… had to be that, couldn’t have been an arrow, couldn’t be more than him just being knocked out…

A spider leapt, loomed over him, limbs ready to cage him. Jabbing upwards with the long knife, he hit the central nerve mode, and its shrieks echoed his as he shoved at it, heaved it off the flet…

…the bond between them, so strong, he’d know if it was more than just an injury, he’d sense it, but no, Duvainor was fine, would be fine, fine…

More spiders, and more, too many, so many… he lost count, just kept on stabbing and slashing and jabbing and sticking and always the screams, the shrieks and yells and screams, the noise, the terrible, fearful noise, the blind fear bubbling away at him, turning his knees to jelly… only his need to protect Duvainor kept him going, spider after spider after…

Voices, he didn’t know, not orcs, saying something, but the screams and the spiders, still in front of him, shadowy shapes, and…

Sudden pain in his jaw, and everything went dark.

*

When it began to lift, his head ached, there was a huge pain in his face and there was that awful screaming again, and he almost choked as water filled his mouth; he swallowed, out of instinct, and for a heartbeat, the yells stopped. Started again, and something that might have been swearing. More pain and…

Dark.

*

Healer Nestoril sat behind her desk, listening. Captain Bregon had stopped talking some time ago, Himon, the duty captain who’d led the patrol, more recently. But that didn’t stop her from waiting, listening to the silences around the two warriors.

Bregon she knew of old; he had a good heart, compassionate, wanted to do the best for the warriors in his care, and she read his silence to hold muted fury; the duty captain had been at fault, for whatever reason he had been happy to let two warriors hold a three-elf flet close to an area of danger and Nestoril knew that wouldn’t sit well with Bregon… she also knew he recognised his as the ultimately responsible position and so guilt and shame were mingling with his rage…

Somewhere distant from Nestoril’s office, someone began screaming. Muted by distance, but not muted enough, it fractured the tense silence. Bregon looked down at his hands. The duty captain winced. Nestoril rose from her desk her chair scraping against the stone floor.

‘Captain Bregon, I have no time now to go into more discussion with your captain as to the appropriateness or otherwise of his judgement. I insist, however, on protesting at the highest level an inappropriate use of force on the warrior whose screams are now interrupting our meeting.’

This was the point at which Bregon should have interrupted with explanations and a spirited defence of the warrior who had used said inappropriate force. Instead, he inclined his head.

‘I agree, Healer. Everyone concerned will be put on the relevant charges and I will submit myself to Over-captain Rawon for his judgement.’

‘But what were we supposed to do?’ Himon, the duty captain blurted out. ‘Carry him home shrieking? It was four days…’

Nestoril ignored him, going to hold the door, gesturing them out. It was plain she considered the meeting at an end, and brushed past them to head towards the room from which the screams were issuing.

Bregon glared at the duty captain and waved him away, himself turning to follow the healer. She opened a door and hurried in, noticed him, and left it open after her as she crossed to the bed where a young ellon, half his face swathed in heal-silk and his eyes stark open, locked in reverie, was ripping the air with the sounds of his distress. A healer at the bedside, wearing the mid-blue robes of the novice, had one of his hands in her own, and she was crooning softly too him, a soft Silvan incantation, her gentle voice soothing, reassuring.

Nestoril took his other hand, laid careful fingers on his forehead.

‘Hush now, Canadion, it is over, indeed. Listen to me, hear me, hear Maereth… you are safe, in the Healers’ Hall, we have you…’

Slowly the injured ellon’s screams subsided, became whimpers. Maereth ceased her song.

‘That was but the second episode today,’ she said in her soft voice. ‘He is recovering, at last.’

Nestoril nodded, turned to Bregon.

‘Two days he has been here, and his jaw was shattered in three places. His face was all over bruises, his throat raw from the screams… Healing has begun, but he is in great pain, despite the dressings for, of course, when he… vocalises, he disturbs the healing bone and flesh. It is my understanding that warrior companies are sent out with supplies of sedatives and analgesics… there was no need for this… this abuse.’

Her voice was sad, disappointed, and Bregon swallowed.

‘Those responsible will face the full weight of discipline, Healer. I could understand the first time, perhaps… they tell me he was on the flet, standing over the captain’s body, yelling, stabbing blindly and dead spiders all around, on the floor of the forest… he’d been hours there, they said, before they could get through the orcs and reach him, and they couldn’t reason with him… but after that, once they had him safe…’

‘I do not know if he will ever feel safe again,’ Maereth said sadly. ‘His mind is in such fear and grief. He does not know about his captain, he keeps asking, was the captain badly hurt by the stone from the slingshot, he doesn not realise it was an arrow… it is not a thing for now, of course.’

‘No, Maereth, it is not.’ Nestoril turned to Bregon. ‘The captain’s body remains with us, in repose, for Canadion will need to see him before he has a chance of healing from this. The family may protest; Captain, I look to you to argue powerfully on our behalf; it is the least you can do.’

‘Yes, Healer,’ he said, humbled, for he knew it really, really was.  
 


	11. Staying or Going?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long, long before Canadion was born, before even his beloved father was born, so long ago as to be in a different Age of Middle-Earth, another elfling lay in a parental embrace and was vaguely aware of the discussion going on over his head. Sleepy, heavy in his naneth’s arms (for this elfling was loved and cuddled by both his parents), little Thorion drifted away from the conversation…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two: The Coming of Thiriston Cut-Face

‘Surely he is too little to come with us?’ Vayne said, looking at the elfling in Arradis’ arms. 

The youngling looked little more than a toddler, barely weaned, in fact, and they wanted to bring him along on a six-month trading trip? He knew elves were odd, of course, but were they all this strange, this fey?

‘Then he is too little to stay behind,’ the elf-woman replied, looking to her spouse for support.

‘Our son is already twelve years old, counted by your reckoning,’ Orobenon said. ‘Yes, to your human eyes, he looks much younger; our elflings grow slowly in stature at this stage of his development. But otherwise, he is strong for his age amongst our kind, he is bright and clever and quick, and can endure a day on his feet some of your grown Men would find wearying. If he stays behind, we stay with him. And if we stay, our kinfolk will be less willing to join with your company, Vayne.’

‘Is that a threat?’

‘No,’ Arradis said, ‘it is a fact. Our kin do not often trade across this trail; only because we have done so twice in recent decades and have travelled with you before will they consider it. Come, it is to both our peoples’ advantage that we band together in these times. Besides, there are other families, other elflings, and there are human couples with children with the train.’

To Vayne, that wasn’t the point.

‘The other elflings are bigger, obviously older. Isn’t there an older sister? Why do you not leave the little one with her?’ Vayne asked, persistent. 

Orobenon got to his feet and held his arms out to his spouse for her to pass him the elfling, ignoring the question. It was none of Vayne’s business, after all.

‘We will return to our lodgings,’ he said. ‘In the morning, we will set off for our forest home. Or else we will join your train, it matters little to us. We are Elves, a few months or years will make no odds.’

‘Wait!’ Vayne said, spreading his hands and trying to get in the way without seeming to block the Silvan’s path. ‘I mean no disrespect; I think only of the safety of your little one... the miles are long from Dale to the Misty Mountains and over into Lindon... it will be half a year before we return...’

‘And do you not see that is too long for a youngling to be away from its parents?’ Orobenon said. ‘When last we travelled with your family, Vayne, your father told me we would ever have a place with your train. But if you do not want us, and our kin, we can take the southern route down the River Running later in the year and trade towards Rhûn instead...’

Vayne threw up his hands in defeat.

‘Very well. As you wish, Master Orobenon! We need your skill with the bow as well as your lady’s way with healing, and your kin are strong fighters. We may require their talents, also.’

‘Is the way not safe, these days?’ Arradis asked.

‘Of course the way is sa...’ Vayne broke off, shaking his head. ‘The last train came home safe, but the one before ran into a few difficulties, wargs in the mountain passes. But it was winter, and this company is timed to avoid a winter passage; we will be across, and back, before there is any risk of snow, or hungry wargs; I meant only, for hunting food on the way. Or possibly bandits. But a well-arrayed company such as ours will be fine.’

Although, without the support of the elves, it would not be nearly so well-arrayed, although Vayne somehow didn’t mention that…

*

That evening, after the elfling had been sung to sleep by his Adar, the elves gathered by Arradis’ fireside to consider the conversation with Vayne.

‘I do not believe it was just that he thought our son would get in the way, or delay us,’ Arradis said. ‘Nor do I think he was trying to deceive us; he admitted there had been problems with wargs, and a small risk of bandits...’

‘We are not afraid of either!’ one of the younger elves said.

‘And why should we be?’ Orobenon said. ‘We are swifter and more skilled with our weapons than any Man could hope to be; no, he wants us, our weapon skills, our courage, to bolster that of his own kind. He fears something... but he is not certain, he does not know. There was no guile in him.’

‘Still. Lindon... it is a long way to go, just to trade. Far from home, from the ways we know,’ another said.

‘The ways of the Noldor are strange,’ another added. 

‘All the more reason to trade there, Cadudor,’ a third joined in. ‘I think it would be better to go, than not to. It would remind the stuffy Noldor that there are other elves, other ways to live, in this world of ours.’

‘But what does Arradis think?’ the first asked.

‘Yes, Arradis?’

The elleth tilted her head, the lamps making her rich, dark hair glint and gleam like polished mahogany.

‘My heart forebodes me. I would like to go home, with my son and my husband and all of you. But if we do not go...’ She sighed. ‘If we do not go, worse will befall...’

‘Do you see something?’ Orobenon said, for Arradis was known sometimes to be given insights into the future and he knew from past experience it was best to listen to her.

‘Yes. Or rather, I saw the end of my own seeing... the outward journey, all is well, we are welcomed, even, across the mountains. But coming home...’ She shook her head. ‘I do not see myself coming home; no, be calm,’ she added hastily, for the elves around her had stirred, were murmuring to each other. ‘Hear me, it is nothing; it is just a gap in my foresight; it means no more than if I had seen nothing... but you asked, and so I tell you what I have.’

‘If we go home, Arradis,’ Orobenon asked. ‘What then would you see?’

‘I see us back in our village with less money in our coffers! But that is of no importance. I see none of you with us,’ she went on, looking round the room at the other elves now anxiously looking at her. ‘So whether you continue without us, as you could, if you wished, I do not know. But there is a point where I stop seeing, again. And therefore, I think my insight is not about our safety on this trip, but about me, perhaps. There comes a time soon when I lose my foresight.’

‘But why? What does that mean?’ one asked.

‘There could be many reasons,’ she said with a shrug. ‘But it need not concern you. Choose of your own will, stay or go... I will go, with my son and my husband, and let what be what may.’

Later, when all had gone, Orobenon turned to his wife, smiling.

‘I know what sends your gifts into abeyance!’ he said. ‘For was it not thus when you quickened with Thorion?’

She nodded, smiling.

‘There are other reasons, of course. But this is by far the most pleasant possibility.’

‘Indeed. But, beloved, mother of my son, wife of my heart... what do you truly wish to do?’

‘I wish to go home. But... I see us on the road. And therefore, what I wish, and what I do, are at variance. We will ride to Lindon, and set off home again, crossing the mountains long before there is risk of wargs.’

‘Just to clarify, my dearest – are we staying, or are we going?’

‘Going, of course!’ she said. ‘But be aware that we may raise eyebrows amongst the Noldor, if the timing is as I think it will be!’

*

They set off in the early day, almost three score mixed human and elven travellers, the elfling still sleeping in his mother’s arms, the wagon in the centre of the train, three more elvish wagons behind them. Their journey to Lindon was uneventful, unless you were a small elfling named Thorion, in which case it was the most exciting journey ever, full of new sights and sounds and smells, of rare glimpses of mountains and beautiful, wide skies popping with stars brighter than jewels.

For the elfling, every day held wonders, and his naneth delighted in his excitement, and his adar smiled to see it as he chucked the horses onwards.

The High Pass was no more than usually dangerous, and the descent into the inhabited valleys took place to laughter and singing from the trees.

‘There are wood-elves here, too!’ Arradis exclaimed, as a burst of song welled out.

_‘Oh, where are you going?_

_And why are you smiling?_

_Your time in the valley_

_Is all but beguiling!_

_Its lord is a stickler_

_For manners and graces_

_For we humble Silvans_

_Must keep to our places , ha-ha...!’_

‘Oh, gentle friends!’ Arradis called out into the secret trees. ‘We will be as we ever are, for we are only passing through! On our side of the mountains are richer forests by far!’

 

But the homes in the valley were homely enough, their business dealt with easily, good prices for their wares. The High-King of whom so much had been rumoured and sung was from home, and they were received by his lieutenant who had been left in charge. Building work was taking place here and there in the valley, and the foundations set for what would be the formal hall and administrative centre of the site. Arradis and Orobenon were amongst many of the Silvan traders who found shelter amongst the wood-elves in on the outskirts of the more formal buildings, living as guests in the talain there and passing several weeks in comfort until Vayne sent word that he was considering the homeward trail. 

Orobenon looked askance at his wife, for if, as she expected, she was on the point of losing her foresight due to pregnancy, the time was coming when she ought to have some sign. And it was not as if they had not been trying...

But she shook her head and smiled sadly, and the plans were laid, and still no sign had come and soon they would leave the shelter of the hidden valley and venture forth again into the late summer to cross the mountains homewards.

*

On the last evening, the High-King’s lieutenant sought them out, inclining his head to Orobenon politely.

‘You have been welcome guests, mellyn-nin,’ he said. ‘And your son has brought joy to the hearts of many; few are brave enough to bring children into the world as it now is.’

‘And yet, perhaps if more did so, we would have the courage to face the future more readily,’ Arradis said. ‘I thank you, though, for the stories you have all told my son. He does love a tale.’

‘Ai, what elfling does not? But I see a time when he will be cause for story and celebration, and not just an enjoyer of tales. He will win great renown, in his day, and live a long and full life. He will even...’ The lieutenant broke off with a smile. ‘Forgive me, you are gifted enough not to need my offerings; I fear to offend... may I ask, our kindred have been long sundered... is it true, that some Silvans no longer consider the West as somewhere to make a home?’

‘Now, that is a question...’ Orobenon smiled, a formal, tight smile. ‘And one individual cannot speak for all... but, in my heart, I think I would not fear to sail.’

‘Nor I,’ Arradis answered. ‘But if you were about to tell us that our son will sail one day, it would not offend us. Rather, it would be a comfort to know he will live beyond the troubles coming to our world. For there will be troubles, Captain Elrond; it does not take the gift of foresight to know that.’

‘I do not suppose you would consider sailing sooner rather than later?’ Elrond said lightly. ‘It is not so far to the Havens, and there is a ship; there is always a ship... I could spare a troop to ride out with you, or any that wish to go? Alternatively, if you, or any of your company would like to stay here, there is plenty of room and they would be more than welcome.’

‘We have a daughter waiting at home,’ Arradis said. ‘Our hearts are in Middle Earth, and we are not ready to leave it. Besides, how will our son win renown here, if he leaves before he is grown?’

‘You must follow your own paths, of course,’ the Noldo said, bowing. ‘May the light of the Valar ever shine on your steps.’

*

‘Whatever was that about?’ Arradis said with a laugh, once the Noldo had left. ‘It sounded as if he was trying to help, but he had a very odd way of doing it!’

‘Ah, who can say with these fellows? They think they are so wise, but they do not live as closely to the land as we do. And this one stranger than most; human blood, so I hear. Who can say what that does to a fëa? I would not worry, my dear.’

‘But we should tell our kin, what he said,’ Arradis persisted. ‘About the ship; I do not think he would have tried to encourage us to sail, if there were not danger waiting on the way home.’

So Orobenon gathered the other elves of the train together and put the matter to them.

‘Do you advise us to sail, then?’ one said.

‘Will you not follow the advice of the Noldo?’ said a second.

‘I advise nothing; I simply pass on what was said, that you may make an informed choice,’ Orobenon replied. ‘Our choice has been made because we have a daughter at home, waiting for our return. But your lives are your own, to spend here or to take over the seas.’

In the finish, all the elves except for one newly-avowed couple decided to take the trail back over the mountains. But none of them, no matter how they tried, could persuade Arradis or Orobenon to explain further, and the matter was not, of course, mentioned to Vayne or any of the other humans.

It really wasn’t relevant; they were not elves, no welcome awaited them beyond the seas.


	12. The Way Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the trading party finds the journey home not as easy as the journey out...

Once over the path between the mountains they headed north, turning a little to the east and following the line of the forest. Amongst the Silvan contingent now there were quiet, private discussions to the road home; having converted their goods to currency, they could easily abandon the train and go home through their forest, along the Forest River, a much shorter route, and then disperse to their individual settlements which were mostly in the south of the Greenwood.

‘But what of you, Arradis, Orobenon?’ one asked.

‘Do not make your choices based on ours,’ Arradis said. ‘We will stay with Vayne, for now. There are three days before you need to decide which route to take. Besides, we have an agreement with the Man.’

Later, when Thorion was sleeping in the back of the wagon, Arradis took her husband’s hand and led him into the darkness, seeking a private place to talk.

‘The reason my sight fails is not because I will quicken,’ she said. ‘It is because my foresight stops.’

‘I thought as much,’ Orobenon said. ‘For all the talk, for all the practice...’

Here, Arradis smiled and blushed.

‘...For all that, we did not ask for the gift of another elfling. So how could there be one? But, beloved wife...’

‘I know, now, why it stops. Because, my dear, I believe I stop.’

‘No...’

‘Yes. And there is nothing to be done about it; if we go into the forest, I still stop. A little later, a day or so, but the same thing happens.’

‘What of our kin? Ought we to send them into the woods? Will that protect them?’

‘Not that I can see. But if we are together, some survive, I am sure of that. If we separate, I think all fails, for the Men as well as for us. Our kin must learn to decide for themselves; I am tired of constantly being asked what they should do!’

Orobenon did not speak, did not ask whether they ought to have taken the Noldo lord’s advice and sailed after all; their daughter Bronwenith was waiting, and to have sailed without her, even to save themselves, was not to be considered for a moment.

‘You know I love you, Arradis,’ Orobenon said. ‘What of our son?’

‘His path I see glimpses of, not much, but enough. He survives. He endures. As the Noldo says, he wins renown...’

‘Then nothing else matters, my dear, does it?’

‘Nothing else, my love.’

*

All the Silvans deciding to keep to the agreement with Vayne, they tracked east around the borders of the forest, keeping the spikes and ridges of Ered Mithluin to their left and a good half days’ march away from their company; rumours of orcs and wargs abounded in these times, although it was not yet the season for wargs. The elves hunted and fished, and complained large game was sparse, but there was enough food, with their stores, to keep them fed. 

The weather turned wet, surprising for late summer, and the ground became boggy and difficult for the wagons, necessitating a detour somewhat to the north, closer to the mountains where the ground was harder and the way became steeper. Arradis saw the jagged peaks growing nearer and shuddered, her foreboding swelling in her heart, and she clutched Thorion closer and began to sing him all the songs, as if afraid her voice would be silenced before she had taught him them.

Yet all was well, for several more days. 

‘I do not like being so close to the mountains somehow,’ Orobenon said, for rocky ridges were everywhere around, now, jagged and hard.

‘I know; it has bothered me also. But we will need them,’ Arradis said. ‘Tomorrow, ride with your bow to hand.’

It happened, just as dusk was falling, the horses stumbling at the end of a long day. A cloud of bats first, blanketing the sky, and Arradis gasped, put her hand on Orobenon’s to halt the wagon.

‘I love you,’ she said. ‘Aim higher than you think you should.’

‘Arradis? I love you, also...’

His wife had clambered into the back of the wagon where Thorion was resting, and she jumped down from the back with her son in her arms and a small leather bag over her shoulder; Orobenon joined her.

‘Kiss your son,’ she said. ‘I will get him to safety.’

‘Ada...?’

‘Hush, penneth. Know I love you, your naneth loves you. Do as she bids you, ion-nin.’

Arradis led the youngling over the rough ground to where a crack in the ridge to the north masked a safe entrance to a narrow crevice, almost a cave but open to the sky here and there. She set him down, stroked the hair back from his face, and kissed him.

‘I love you, my son, you are more precious to me than my own life... here is water and some waybread, keep to the back, keep quiet if you can, try not to be afraid, and do not come out until tomorrow daylight, do you understand?’

Thorion nodded.

‘You will need to be very brave for a little while, but do not worry, you will be all right; I have seen it.’ She kissed him again. ‘We will meet again, I have seen it. Be well, ion-nin.’

‘But, Nana...’

‘Hush, now. You must try to keep quiet. And there will be shouting, soon, and flames, but you must stay here, do you see? Promise me?’

He nodded, and she kissed him again. 

‘Go to the back now.’

‘Nana?’

‘I love you, my dear. Nana must go, now.’

*

Arradis hurried down the slope towards the wagons; all had halted now to see what was up, and an argument looked to be breaking out between the humans and some of the Silvans; Vayne was hurrying over and Orobenon was trying to calm matters down.

‘What is going on, why have you stopped?’ Vayne asked. ‘We were going to camp higher up...’

‘We are going to be attacked,’ Arradis said to consternation from the humans and silent attention from the Silvans. ‘Ready your bows, your swords, hide your children; there are cracks in the rocks, secrete them away, there is time if you move now...’

But instead they stood and argued until there was a shriek in the sky and huge, beating wings and the dragons fell on them with fire and fear and screaming, deadly breaths.

Orobenon knocked an arrow to his bow, other Silvans dashed for their own weapons, Arradis running after her husband.

‘Did you get him safe?’

‘Yes, my love.’

‘Why did you not stay with him?’

‘Because I hoped they would listen to you, to me; they always do what they think I want them to, and by coming back I hoped to make them see... But they will not, they only wanted to argue! Still, our son, he will survive this and grow to be such a hero...’

‘Then all will be well.’

But it wasn’t, not really.

*

Huddled at the back of the crevice, Thorion saw the flashes of flame outside, heard the yells, the shrieks, the screams. He heard one immense bellowing howl across the mountains echo and reverberate and recede, and all was still. Later, he thought he heard a voice calling, but he remembered his mother’s instructions and stayed where he was until daylight. 

Only then did he leave the cave and begin the long, scary walk down to the smoking, smouldering ruins of the wagons.

‘Look! It is Thorion!’ a voice called.

‘Go to him, quickly, do not let him see...’

An elleth hurried across the scorched earth towards the elfling.

‘Thorion, little one! I am so glad to see you safe! Do you know me? It is Fasdes, you know, we would sing together sometimes... we were worried about you!’

‘Where is Nana?’ he asked. ‘And Ada?’

‘Oh, penneth, I am so sorry! They are dead. There were two dragons, and they killed almost everyone; there are only a few of us left...’

‘What is ‘dead’?’ Thorion asked, because it was not a word he had ever heard in relation to elvenkind.

‘It is something that does not usually happen to us,’ she said. 

‘So they are special, then?’

‘Yes, I suppose you could say so. It means their fëar have gone to Mandos, and they have left their bodies behind. They do not need them there, with Mandos.’

‘What happened to Nana? And where is Ada?’

‘Oh, my dear little one! I am sorry, they are gone.’

‘Without me?’

‘They could not take you. They were not able to. It is not that they do not love you, or did not want you with them, but they wanted you to be safe...’

It was too hard to explain.

Fasdes took his hand and led him down to where one wagon, and one horse, were waiting. An elf was sitting on the seat. Thorion thought he looked sad, but he didn’t know why.

‘This is Cadudor. You know Cadudor, your far-cousin.’

‘Thorion, it is good to see you are safe. Sit with us.’

He sat on the driving seat between the two elves while they talked over his head.

‘What should we do about... them?’

‘We cannot do anything for them now; there are too many. When we get back, we will give their names; perhaps they will send a company to bring them home.’

‘The little one’s parents...’

‘We cannot let him see them. Should we wait for the humans?’

‘Perhaps they will want us to. There is only Vayne, and two of the Men left,’ Cadudor said. ‘We can make room for them; I will go and seek them out.’

*

It wasn’t until night time that reality caught up with Thorion. He had sat, and waited for Nana or Ada to come back. He knew what ‘gone’ meant, and ‘dead’, when it was to do with other creatures. But not elves. So it had to be a game. Hiding and seeking, perchance, Nana played that, sometimes.

The adults made no camp fire that night, and he wondered why, but didn’t ask. He wondered, also, where all the elves and Men had gone – there were only as many elves left as he had fingers on one hand, and fewer Men… perhaps they were hiding-and-seeking, too, or had decided to go home into the forest. He lay down in the wagon between Cadudor and Fasdes, listening to the raspy breathing of the Men beyond, something sounding wrong about them in a way he didn’t really understand. 

It was only when he went into reverie that he remembered what had happened after Nana had hidden him. The shouts. The screams. The air outside orange and yellow and hot, the smell of burning, of roasted meats, sickly and sad. The fear, worse in memory than in actual fact, for now it seemed the whole world was flaming...

He woke up screaming, but it didn’t matter really, because one of the Men had, first. Fasdes held him close, and Cadudor sang to him, but it wasn’t the same as Nana and Ada.

*

By the time they finally limped in to the trading town, some of the Men had disappeared, and the rest of the elves had gone, too. They, at least, had stopped to say goodbye to Fasdes and Cadudor and to shake their heads and sigh over Thorion. And he had learned to wake before he started screaming; it upset Fasdes less, although she never reproached him. Instead she told him he was so brave, that they were proud of him, Fasdes stroking his hair and Cadudor smiling sadly at him, and he knew they were trying to help him feel better. But he didn’t really understand what he was feeling, or why it felt as if part of his body had been torn out, so how could he feel better until he knew...?

The Man who used to be in charge came and talked over his head at Fasdes.

‘He’s too quiet,’ Vayne told her. ‘You need to watch him; when it comes, it will come in force.’

Arradis would have politely thanked him, and perhaps said that elflings were different from human children, but she wasn’t there, of course, and Fasdes did not quite have the courage to do other than nod and assure him the elfling was first in her thoughts.

‘He is too quiet,’ Cadudor said later, as Thorion slept in his arms. ‘But I do not know what to do about it.’

‘When we return home, we can take him to the healers. They may be able to help.’

‘What shall we do? Will his sister be able to care for him?’

‘She is little more than an elfling herself and stayed behind because she’d been injured; she may yet not be well enough. Besides, if Thorion’s mother would not leave him there for so short a time as the journey, how will she cope with him as he grows and realises what he has lost? They are Children of the Forest now, I suppose. She is old enough to forge her way, but a family must be found for Thorion.’

‘Could we be that family, Fasdes? It is hard to say, but this sadness and grief has made me aware how much worse it would have been to my heart, had you been lost. The little one is growing used to us; it would be a kindness, and I am his kin. When we get home, and all our dead are honoured, will you bind with me, and we can perhaps provide a home for Thorion, and his sister too, if she wants it? For as long as they need it, that is.’

‘If that is your only reason, then no,’ Fasdes said slowly. ‘But if it is because you are drawn to me...’

‘Of course!’

‘I wish I were not so sad, so that I could be happier,’ she said.

That night they stayed at an inn on the outskirts of the trade-town. Thorion looked about him with wide eyes; having grown used to the wagon, and open spaces, and a few people, to be amongst all the bustle and smell and great, tall legs of humans was distressing. The door to the inn’s kitchens was open, and through it he could see the great fireplace, half of a pig roasting on a spit. The smell reminded him of something.

Whomever was meant to be turning the spit had left off their task for something else, and soon a voice rose, chiding.

‘Boy! Get back to your work, the meat is burning...’

_...burning..._

‘...it is scorched...’

_...scorched..._

Suddenly, Thorion flinched, and huddled in against Cadudor, shivering and shaking and beginning to cry.

__

____‘What is it, what is the matter, penneth?’_ _ _ _

____‘B...burning... like... like they said Nana... Nana...’_ _ _ _

____‘Oh, sweet Eru!’ Cadudor muttered. ‘Penneth, it was not like that, do not think it! No, it was quick, for your nana, your adar...’_ _ _ _

____But he began to really weep, to wail, and Cadudor shrugged as everyone in the room stared at them, for it was most unusual for an elfling to carry on so, unless physically hurt. He lifted the elfling gently in his arms and carried him out of the inn and round to the yard where the wagon was parked, climbing inside with him and lying down by Thorion’s bed space, stroking his hair and waiting for the storm to pass._ _ _ _

____After a while, Fasdes joined them. Thorion was sobbing intermittently now, recovering a little from the delayed shock of realising what had happened to his parents._ _ _ _

____‘They say one of the Noldor advised his parents to sail,’ Cadudor said as Thorion slowly grew calm. ‘You recall, the discussion there was?’_ _ _ _

____‘Had we known...’_ _ _ _

____‘Yes. But would it have been the right thing, or just the safe thing? I do not think I would have sailed, you know. I might have stayed there, with the woodland elves in the valley, but I would not have taken ship.’_ _ _ _

____‘But I think I would have gone,’ Fasdes said. ‘Young though I am. And then we would not have looked at each other.’_ _ _ _

____‘I have always looked at you, Fasdes, and wondered why you would not look back.’_ _ _ _

____‘The healers – Arradis herself – said I had been made differently. That I would not be likely to bear children. It is rare, for ellyn, but so it is, and I did not think it fair to you, for I have seen you with elflings.’_ _ _ _

____With a soft, sobbing sigh, Thorion rolled onto his back and his eyes fluttered open as he reached reverie._ _ _ _

____‘It will not be easy, to steer this young one through his growing days. And his sister might not want us at all,’ Fasdes said._ _ _ _

____‘I know. But I have love in my heart for this little one, as much as he has endured already. He was a sweet child before. I will do what I can.’_ _ _ _

____‘And I will be with you, while you try.’_ _ _ _

____Another week saw them home in their forest village, telling the story to the Einior, the Village Elder, explaining the losses._ _ _ _

____He bowed his head and thought of the lives lost, just for the sake of a little trade. Perhaps their king was right, perhaps the old, traditional ways of living were best, safest._ _ _ _

____‘I will not speak now of grief and sorrow,’ he said. ‘This tale is too new to me. But word must go to the palace, to the sister of this elfling, to the villages who have also lost their bright elves. We must take thought to whether we will go back to claim what is left, or allow the Valar to cover them with soft rain and gentle winds. They have no need, now, of corporeal form, after all.’_ _ _ _

____‘We will go to some,’ Fasdes said, although her Naneth looked saddened at the thought. ‘Cadudor and I, we will seek out Bronwenith, and tell her the tale. And the other villages near, we will take word there, for we were witnesses. But go to the king I will not and cannot do; it is too frightening for me, I will not leave my trees for a time.’_ _ _ _

____‘Perhaps Cadudor could go?’ the Einior said; it was not really a suggestion, but when both Fasdes and Cadudor shook their heads, he thought again. ‘Or perhaps Cadudor could tell what happened to one of our messengers, and we will send word that way. News will reach our king more swiftly thus.’_ _ _ _

____So it was done. Cadudor sat for an hour with one of the young ellyn, and talked, and wrote what had happened, all he could remember about the dragons, the number of those lost and their names, for that would be important for the remembrances of the dead, and of the few who survived but went off towards their homes on the way._ _ _ _

____Next day, the little family-to-be set off for the village where Thorion and his parents had lived. They found Bronwenith, and told her with as much care and gentleness as they could, what had happened, and she gathered her brother into her arms and together they cried, and Fasdes hoped it would be the start of healing for them both._ _ _ _

____But for Thorion, it would be a very long journey._ _ _ _

____There was a ceremony, of course, two Starlight Gemstones brought by someone from the King’s Office who spoke with dignity and respect about how valued all Silvans were, how courageous those who had lost their lives. How invaluable the knowledge of the dragons would be, that there were plans to go and rout them out, to destroy them before more lives were lost, and to then make a memorial there to those who had fallen.  
For Thorion, he mostly recalled afterwards lots of sad elves taking turns to hold two beautiful gems and to say his parents’ names, to talk about them. When it came to their turn, he listened to Bronwenith and wondered if he had to say all that, too._ _ _ _

____‘No, dear one,’ Fasdes said. ‘You just say all the nice things you remember about your nana and ada. What you liked about them.’_ _ _ _

____‘I liked nana’s hair, it was shiny. And Ada, singing. And...’_ _ _ _

____Around him, the adults hid tears and tried to smile as the little one recited a simple litany of loving parents and gentle kindnesses, lost forever, never to be again._ _ _ _


	13. Growing Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorion doesn't want to go on walkabout...

‘You are not my naneth! You cannot make me go, you cannot make me do anything!’ 

Thorion regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth and loud in the air of the talan. He shook his head, but the damage was done; Fasdes had covered her mouth with her hand and turned away her face.

‘Forgive me, I did not mean... I am sorry, you have been kind. Always kind, you and Cadudor, but... but...’

‘I know, Thorion, I know,’ she said, sighing. ‘We love you as if you were our own...’

‘I know. I am sorry.’

It hadn’t been the first time Thorion had raised his voice at either of his foster parents, and he was ashamed to say he didn’t think it would be the last. He tried, he really did, and it wasn’t their fault they weren’t Nana and Ada, and if Bronwenith were to hear of it, she would scold him from one end of the forest to the other for doing so. And he knew he would deserve it.

It was just that sometimes... sometimes...

The last time he had felt safe was when Nana had hidden him in the crevice, before the dragons had come. Her calm certainty that he would be all right had soothed him then, even when everything had got frightening outside...

Fasdes and Cadudor had tried to protect him, to keep the fear away, and mostly he had calmed, and settled, and they had been happy, after a fashion, for decades. Bronwenith had lived with them to start with, although she’d had a lot to put up with from her little brother who somehow blamed her for their parents’ death, as if, had she’d been there, they would all have been safe. It had been silly, they both knew that now, the unconnected ideas of an elfling, but it had still hurt his sister’s feelings.

He was growing up, no longer an elfling, almost a young adult, and while nothing had changed in the village, it was still home, still known and safe, Thorion felt as if danger lurked everywhere these days. It was in his blood, as he felt strange changes in his body, moving out of childhood towards the unknown world of being an adult. There was danger in his head – sudden mood swings he couldn’t understand and didn’t know how to control. He did his best to cope with it, day to day, managing to keep his temper in the learning groups when the other younglings were annoying and loud, when he wanted to work and they to play. He managed around the village when the adults still saw him as an elfling, when it suited them, or as a strong pair of arms, when they wanted help, and that was demeaning somehow, that they treated him as an adult when they wanted something, but as an elfling when they didn’t.

But at home, if Fasdes or Cadudor said anything to worry or alarm him, it was harder not to react, not to lash out, to remind them they weren’t his parents.

‘It isn’t what you think,’ he said, trying to explain. ‘Not really. It’s not ‘you have no right to make me do things’, what I mean is, ‘you do not deserve this, you love me because you will, not because you have to,’ I know you are kind, I know I am not a good elfling...’

Fasdes came and put her arms round her foster-son. Already taller than she, broader, much stronger, if he really lost his temper one day, she would not like to be in the way of it... but he was at heart a gentle soul. It was only that unexpected things alarmed him, made him feel threatened.

‘You are, and have been, the best elfling in the forest,’ she told him. ‘You have always done your very best, when around me I see others who do not try nearly so hard. Your first-parents would be so proud of you, to see what a fine young ellon you are growing to be.’

‘But I am not. I am angry, inside, and I do not know why...’

‘Oh, my dear. That is only because of your age. And you have so many more things to be angry about than your contemporaries.’

‘It’s not you, or Cadudor, do you see that?’

‘Of course I do.’ Fasdes sat next to him and lightly touch his shoulder. ‘And if you do not want to go, I should not even dream of trying to make you. But it is important you know why this chance is offered to all the younglings, so that you know what you are declining.’

‘I’ll listen, if you want.’

‘Thank you. When I was about your age, I and a group of younglings from the other villages went out into the forest under the guidance of a slightly older ellon. Our job was to stay away for as long as we could, to learn the ways of the woods, to hear the trees... to connect, if you will. We hunted, and fished, and ran around in the canopy. We learned how to listen with other senses than our ears. And some of us made bonds that we carried over into our adult lives.’

‘It didn’t sound like that when the teaching scribe spoke of it. It sounded more like a night walk with a group of elflings.’

‘Well. Sometimes there will be one in the group who doesn’t like it, and then the company might turn back early. There is no pride in staying out for too long; it looks as if the young ones are unhappy at home. And there is no shame in coming home early. You will know when the time is right, if you have bonded with your group.’

‘And if you haven’t?’

‘Then you don’t have to go out again. But it is a shame; we are always stronger together.’

‘Learning the forest, you say?’

‘That’s right. You leave your name behind, and the group leader will give you a new one, just for while you’re away. You might hate it. You might like it; my group name was Mouse, because I was small and quiet. I didn’t like it, but it made me determined to be bolder.’

‘I don’t want to be part of it. They others hate me, they all hate me.’

‘Even those you’ve never met?’

‘Yes. They take one look and decide, even before I’ve said anything.’

‘And does the forest hate you?’

‘I don’t think so... No, the trees are friendly. They’re about the only things that are, though.’

‘Would you not like to know the forest better? To be able to hear the trees, to let them know you, in turn, are friendly?’

‘Of course.’

‘And that is something you could learn, if you go on the walkabout. No other youngling from the village is old enough to go, Thorion, so you will not be with the nuisances. Instead, you will all be strangers together. Irrespective of whether you find you like each other, you will learn about this, our forest. It will change you, they say. But what they really mean is that it will make you more you.’

‘Is that really going to be a good thing, other-Naneth?’

She laughed at the name, what he’d called her when he was very small, the nearest he could get to calling her his mother.

‘As long as it is the all of you, yes. You know, Thorion, that we are whole big bundles of feelings and opinions and strengths and weaknesses. So you get angry when other elflings waste time; that shows   
you want to work, that you value discipline.’

‘Even if I don’t like being told what to do?’

‘Even then, for it shows you understand the why. And you notice injustice and unfairness, and that means you try to be fairer in return.’

‘But I’m not!’

‘But you want to be. And as you grow, you will discover how.’

‘I’ll go, then, if you want. At least I can shoot an arrow straight, and I’m good with knives.’

Fasdes nodded and smiled, smoothing Thorion’s dark hair. If there was one thing that did worry her about her big foster-son, it was his fondness for knives.

All elves carried a belt knife or two, of course, along with bow and arrows. For while it was all very well to shoot your supper, without a knife, how were you to skin and gut it? But Thorion had more than one or two; he practically had a collection, utility blades, throwing knives, daggers... he made more use of his knives than any elf she knew, and could cast a knife, send it tumbling through the air, into the heart of a target more surely than many of the adults.

Still, she had never said anything; Cadudor and she had talked it over, and Cadudor had pointed out how important it was for someone like Thorion, who had lost so much, to have something he could own as his. And a talent with weapons could never be a bad thing, especially as the world outside was growing dark again.

They had wondered, Cadudor and she, if the world was growing too dark for the younglings to be still sent out to learn the forest, but it was for the king to decide how dangerous the world was, not they who stayed safe in their villages and didn’t venture even as far as the court. Word would come, if they needed to be warned, or told, or prepared.

*

A few days later, Thorion hugged Fasdes and Cadudor with awkward affection, shouldered his weapons and set off to the appointed meeting place at the bottom of a way-flet half way between their village and the next to the south.

He was no happier about the trip, but could see the benefits of learning the forest. Only thing he didn’t know was who would be in the group.

Not that it mattered, not if you left your name behind.

Might know some of them by sight, of course.

‘Greetings!’ An ellon swung down from the flet above, landing lightly at Thorion’s feet. ‘I am the appointed guide for your immersion in the forest; my own awakening was a decade ago now, I came of age two years since and this is my third time as guide. Note, I do not say ‘leader’, because the company leads itself; my task is to keep us fed and warm and keep us out of the worst danger...’

‘Am I the first here?’

‘Yes, indeed, and that would be a fine name for you, ‘First’, but...’ The ellon tipped his head as if listening. ‘But I do not think you would like that; it would put you too much in line of sight, and I feel you prefer to be at the edges of things. You are so tall, and so broad, that it must be hard to blend in...’

Thorion nodded.

‘What do we call you, Seer? Because you see a lot, don’t you?’

The guide laughed. 

‘Well, now, normally I name myself and take on something that makes me seem approachable and perhaps a little amusing; one not to be afraid of, or overly respected... But I like Seer. Tell me about yourself – not your home or your kin, but you, something you do well, or badly, or that you think you are or could be and I will choose you a name for while we walk together.’

Thorion shrugged.

‘I didn’t really want to be here. Is that what you want? Not the forest, the... being with strangers.’

‘I see. Thank you for your candour... but I won’t name you from that, if you please. What do you like to do?’

‘Be at home.’ Thorion shrugged. ‘Not upset the people I live with. Knives, I throw knives well. I like the sound when they hit where I want them to.’

‘Would you show me?’ Seer asked.

Thorion nodded, casting around for a target. He found a fallen branch and wedged it against a tree trunk, touching the bark of the tree as he set the bough in place.

‘Not going to hurt you,’ he muttered. ‘Just the dead wood.’

Walking back some twenty or thirty paces, he took a couple of knives from his belt and nodded to Seer.

‘Ware the blades,’ he called out, lest there be other people in the forest about to cross the path. ‘Knives in the air!’

He threw once, twice, the blades tumbling fast to hit and hit again, a handle apart, in the deadwood. Seer applauded.

‘Excellent! And do you always shout out?’

Thorion went to retrieve his knives, nodded.

‘Some little elflings in our village. They’re not supposed to be near the practice grounds alone, but they don’t always do as they’re told. If I shout out, and one gets clipped, not my fault, is it? Fasdes – who cares for me – cleared it with the Einior that if I always shout when I’m throwing, it’s fair warning. So I always do.’

‘Then I shall call you Shout, if that suits?’ Seer said.

Thorion nodded.

‘It will do,’ he said. ‘Was worried I might end up with something unkind. I know an elleth was called Mouse, and she hated it.’

‘The names are meant to be kind,’ Seer said. ‘Perhaps to encourage. Sometimes to make the owner smile. I am sorry for your friend, if she was made uneasy.’

Thorion shrugged.

‘Where are the others?’

‘I don’t know,’ Seer said. ‘I am expecting two more. They are not late, yet. Neither are they punctual. Come up into the flet, we will wait there. After you.’

Letting Shout ascend first meant Seer could watch him, observe how easily he moved up into the tree. For such a tall and broad youngling, he moved neatly, easily, with a respect for the tree that was good to observe.

It was a large part of Seer’s job, observing the youngsters. Who looked likely to prosper in the formal guard, who would be better as a hunter, who might do best serving their village in other ways. Thorion, now, he looked like a hunter born. Other things he’d learned about his first arrival – he managed to get himself into trouble, he’d suffered teasing, at some point, possibly good-natured banter that he simply couldn’t cope with, possibly worse... and he was a Child of the Forest. 

Because nobody referred to their mother by name unless asked for the name, or as ‘the one who cares for me’. And what had that been, ‘not upset the people I live with’...?

Well, not his place to pry or intrude. All he needed to know was how to help all his charges get along with each other, without seeming to steer them... Ha! Perhaps Steer would be a better name...’

‘There’s an elleth on the western trail,’ Shout said. ‘Very bright chestnut hair, you could see her for miles, except in autumn. She’s walking as if the ground hurts her... no. Like she’s afraid of hurting it.’

‘So we could call her Lightstep, then.’

Within a few moments, Lightstep was within hailing distance and seemed to walk more freely on the trail. She lifted her head and cupped her hands around her mouth to send up a rising birdcall ringing out clear and loud; a simple ‘I-am-here,’ to which Seer responded with a similar call before descending from the flet, beckoning Shout after him.

‘Are you the ones I am to walk with?’ she asked. ‘Forgive that I am late; there was another meant to come, but he was injured and so I am alone.’

‘We are your companions,’ the guide said. ‘You may call me Seer. This is Shout, and you we will know as Lightstep.’

‘But my name is...’ She stopped, a frown shadowing her clear grey eyes as she thought. ‘Oh. Of course, we leave our names behind. Lightstep...? have you been watching me so long, then? There were tiny creatures on the trail, and I worried lest I harm them, and so I had to do a little dance around them for a little way. I am pleased to meet you, Seer and Shout. What happens now?’  
Lightstep looked to Shout, who shrugged.

‘Seer’s the guide,’ he said.

‘I’m not sure what to do,’ Seer said. ‘I was told a group of four was the fewest that was to set out...’

‘But I am near to my Age Day,’ Lightstep said. ‘In another month, I will have to leave here, and I doubt if I will have the chance to participate, and...’

‘Looking at our friend here,’ Seer said, ‘he’s got enough bulk for two... and I’ve seen him throw a knife.’

‘I’d like to go on,’ Shout said. ‘Didn’t think I would. Don’t like too many people around me, anyway. So the next time might be more, might be younger ones, silly ones, you know the sort...’

Lightstep looked him over.

‘You won’t mind my saying, apart from your stature, you look like one of the younger ones, to me, Shout?’

He shrugged. ‘Thirty one last begetting day. So maybe I’m at the younger end. But word is these things will stop soon, if things keep on as they are. It’s bad out there, they say.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Lightstep said. ‘But we are not out there. We are safe, in our forest.’

Shout looked around. The tall trees were lightly fuzzed with spring foliage, the underbrush less dense than at other times of the year. If you looked up, you could even see some sky overhead, a pale, washed out blue suggesting high mists and winds.

But here all was close and mild under the trees.

‘Very well; I will be your guide,’ Seer said. ‘But if there is danger, if either of you change your minds, we can return at any time. The forest teaches many lessons, and sometimes the lesson we learn is: not now. Come, we have a little way to go to reach the start of the journey. This way.’

He led them up into the canopy and ran along the sturdy branches, leaping from tree to tree at a swift pace that Shout struggled with, at first, until he learned the knack of ducking while he was moving, spotting his landing before he got to the end of the branch he was on. Lightstep was a little way ahead, her slighter, shorter figure making it easier for her to move between the trees.

‘Except it isn’t that,’ she said, when they stopped to take in the view, and he complimented her on her speed. ‘It is that I beg the tree’s pardon, and ask if it would mind moving out of the way a little; if you find the right way of asking, it can speed one’s progress remarkably.’

Shout made his face smile as Seer laughed.

‘Ai, and you seemed so good at communicating with the trees before!’ he said. ‘Do not forget, they are always listening, always aware of us even when we are focussed elsewhere. It is good to be like the trees, to keep one part of our awareness on the outside world, beyond what we need to concentrate on. So, I wanted to ask, do you have a favourite sort of tree?’

‘Oak,’ Shout said without hesitation. ‘Good, strong trees. Slow to growth, but dependable. You can trust an oak.’

‘Not chatty, though,’ Lightstep said. ‘I like a hazel for conversation, well, to talk to, I can’t quite listen back yet... but if I just want to sit and think, a sweet chestnut is where I go. There are some near my village, and I love how the wind blows through them. What of you, Seer?’

‘Elm,’ he said. ‘Stately and tall and sheltering. I could lie in an elm for days and not come down.’

‘I did that once,’ Lightstep said. ‘They sent out a party to seek for me after two days, I had lost myself in the leaves! The light on them was so lovely...’

‘A mile or so further on, there is a place where we can experience each other’s trees,’ Seer said. ‘But first we need to leave our old selves behind. Do we think we can do that? Not talk about our families, our friends, our day to day lives, except as they matter to the moment?’

‘I think so,’ Lightstep said. ‘I would guess our friend Shout will have no trouble, being so silent and self-contained... there is nothing wrong with not chattering, of course. No offence, friend Shout.’

‘None taken,’ he said, surprising himself, for it was the sort of thing he might have taken offence at, in the village. But then, they didn’t say ‘silent’, they said ‘surly’. ‘At home – last time I will mention it – they mistrust my silence.’

‘It is a wise elf who can keep his own counsel,’ Seer said. ‘Now we will go along the ground trails for a little while. We head east now, for a time. This way!’

*

They followed a trail only elven eyes could have seen, running freely through the trees until Seer turned aside along a side path heading towards one of many forest streams which ran through this region of the forest. A cascade tumbled down, revealing a cave behind it, and into this Seer led them.

‘Here is the place where we truly leave our old, young selves behind and look to the new elves we will become. It is a time to shed the trappings of our former lives and forget everything we ever thought we knew of how we are. That does not mean, leave your knives and bows, it means, leave you anxieties, leave the things that stifled you as well as the things that protected you. For now the forest will care for us.’

He took off his clothes and ducked into the cascade, a symbolic washing away of his old self. Drawing himself from the water, he put on clothing that was waiting on a shelf; green and brown asymmetric tunic, leggings, boots. Shout saw where other garments were stowed along with bedrolls and packs, and followed suit. It felt a little odd to be undressing in front of strangers, one of whom was an elleth, but she was following suit and so there was nothing to be done except to get on with it... worried in case the sight of her stirred his body, as he knew others of his age were stirring, he was at first relieved when nothing happened, and then a little concerned.

Still, he was young, even if he did look bigger and taller than elves two decades his senior, and he was at least glad not to cause offence.

‘When you’re ready, we’re going south now, for about five miles, to where there‘s a wonderful mixed grove,’ Seer said, putting a bedroll into one of the packs and slinging it on his back. ‘You’ll find oak and elm and sweet chestnut there. We’ll be learning to listen and connect.’

They spent the afternoon and evening lying in the branches of the trees, trying to hear what the trees had to say for themselves. They started out each in their own; Shout in an oak, Lightstep in a sweet chestnut, Seer in an elm, and once they found themselves growing drowsy with the thought of insects busy in their leaves, and of drawing up the sweet water, of feeling the breeze filigreeing through their leaves, they swapped, and tried to hear each other’s trees instead.

‘Anyone have anything to say about the trees?’ Seer asked as they reconvened on the ground to light a camp fire against the dark of the evening. ‘Anything?’

‘I could hear the oak,’ Shout said. ‘It sort of grumbled. There’s been too much wet, spiders in its upper branches, it didn’t like them. Stuck its leaves together with silk.’

‘That’s interesting... Lightstep?’

‘My tree was busy with sunlight and how it strokes across from one side to the other of the canopy.’

‘My elm was full of caterpillars – almost literally, showing where the eggs had been laid. It bemoaned the loss of leaves to come, but welcomes the future dance of butterflies,’ Seer said. ‘Did you get anything from each other’s trees?’

‘Sweetness,’ Lightstep said. ‘I had an image of sweetness from the oak. Not that image is the right word...’

‘I know what you mean,’ Seer said. ‘Shout... did you check in the oak for signs of spiders?’

‘Of course. The only ones I found were the little ones you get anywhere. No strands of giant silk, no fragments of old nests.’

‘So what does that suggest?’

‘The tree is remembering,’ Lightstep offered. ‘Making conversation about something that happened.’

‘Yes, it could be. Or...?’

‘Talking about something that might happen,’ Lightstep went on. ‘Expressing fear in case it might... but that would be extraordinary; a tree expressing a sense of anticipation...’

‘Something else it might be,’ Shout said. ‘A warning. Another oak, somewhere else in the forest, being occupied by spiders...’

‘Oh, I don’t like that idea at all,’ Lightstep said with a shudder. ‘I’ve yet to see one of the giant spiders...’

‘I’ve seen a few,’ Seer said. ‘I’ve been there when the hunters had to drive them away from the home talain... they are impressive beasts! What about you, Shout?’

He shook his head.

‘No, not I. I doubt I would be afraid, though. I think I know enough about how to kill them to get away.’

‘Kill them!’ Lightstep shuddered. ‘It seems harsh...’

‘Them or us, I’ll choose us any time,’ Shout said. ‘Sorry.’

‘No, I understand... it is just... oh, I do not like things being killed or hurt. It is not in my nature.’

‘I don’t think it’s natural for any of us, not really,’ Seer said. ‘Oh, it’s one thing to hunt for food... or in times of war...’

‘This is something I have observed in many adults,’ Lightstep said. ‘How easy it is to make exceptions, when matters do not suit our purpose! Yes, I see the need, but I hope I may continue to refuse to delight in killing things.’

‘Surely that’s a healer’s viewpoint? Or an elleth’s? I do not mean to sound critical, or gender-biased; but it is well known that the female nature is more drawn to nurturing – that is why so many of the best healers are ellith... I am not saying one cannot act outside the roles society allots to one, merely that it can be harder to go against one’s nature...’

‘Seer... when you’re in a web, stop struggling!’ Lightstep said, laughing. ‘You will only entangle yourself further! I know what you mean – it is what all the elders say, and it is hard to go against their pronouncements, to think new thoughts for oneself, although I think they may be wrong and ellith are far more able to do the things ellyn do than we are given credit for. Especially, I have myself harboured violent thoughts when not allowed my own way! No, I do not like to kill things, I see how it might be required, but I cannot allow myself ever to find it acceptable.’

‘Shout? Where do you stand on this discussion?’

‘As far away from it as I can,’ Shout said. ‘You’re both right; sometimes you have to kill. But once a thing is dead, it’s dead forever. You can’t bring it back, you can’t apologise and have it spring up and forgive you, however much you want, you can’t, you just can’t... What’s next, Seer? We keeping watch tonight?’

Seer noted the rise in tone and volume as Shout spoke, wondered what had happened, what or who had died to give him this… this anger. But Shout had turned away from the topic, and so Seer allowed the change of subject. 

‘No; the forest will watch over us. If we need to wake, we will wake.’

Shout nodded and settled down in his bedroll, his back to the fire. To all intents and purposes, he looked to be sleeping, but really he stayed awake long into the night, until a drift of thought from the oak tree he faced sent soothing pheromones to reassure him into rest.

The next morning saw them breakfast on lembas and such fungi and roots as Lightstep could find to hand and pronounce perfectly fine to eat. Seer nodded approval.

‘I’ve been foraging before, of course, but it’s good to have one of the company who can do so too. If you don’t object, though, I hope we can fish in a stream later, and have baked trout for supper.’

The day ran swiftly by, spent in the trees again, listening to the sounds of the forest growing and living and breathing all around them, lying so still that small birds would stop within reach of a hand or a foot, unaware, uncaring, unafraid, and the black squirrels ran and bounced up and down the tree trunks in their breeding play, seeking a mate for the next generation.   
Shout smiled, and Lightstep saw, noted how his face changed suddenly with the lifting of his mouth from uncompromising and hard to something almost beautiful.

‘What?’ she asked softly. 

‘Squirrels in the oak, there. They tickle.’

She laughed. ‘I suppose they do!’

And trout caught fresh from one of the bright silver streams, Lightstep sighing as Seer gave their meal as kind and quick a death as he could, Shout laying a hand on her shoulder for a moment but helping gut the fish and thread them on arrows for baking in the fire, food and companionship as night fell.

‘It’s not so bad,’ Shout said. ‘Didn’t want to be here, you know, Lightstep; I thought I’d be running around with a horde of unruly elflings.’

‘Ha, so did I,’ Seer said, overhearing. ‘And sometimes there are many more than this; I think my largest group was seven under my care. That was an interesting trip, I can tell you! Still, we were all friends at the end of it.’

‘I think we are friends now,’ Lightstep said. ‘I have heard it said that the bonds made on these expeditions can last a life time.’

‘So I hear,’ Seer said. ‘Although there are times when everyone just goes home and looks back on their green days in the forest, and don’t ever do anything interesting again... ah, well. They do say exciting times can be difficult ones, too. And it’s challenge enough just living, sometimes.’

‘What’s tomorrow, Seer?’

‘There is a glade I want to show you; a herd of wild deer frequent it, but we’ll need to go with care, the hinds will either be close to giving birth, or have fawns at foot.’

‘That would be lovely to see!’ Lightstep said. ‘I have heard so much of the wild deer ... do any of the giant elk live in these parts of the forest, that you know?’

‘No, the elk-tamers keep their own enclaves, in two or three spots, but not around here. We would not be allowed close, in any case, they are very strict.’

‘Well, I shall look forward to the deer tomorrow, then,’ Lightstep said. ‘And so, goodnight, mellyn-nin.’

*

Running through the canopy, throwing themselves through the spaces between the leaves and trusting the trees to catch them if they failed to grasp the branches they had launched themselves at was a joy and delight, and built confidence without any of them knowing it was happening. Every leap, every stroke of the bark of this tree or another strengthened their bonds with the forest, made them more aware of each other, tree and elf, elf and tree. Their senses already heightened by exposure to the scents and sounds and shimmering air around them were only honed further the longer they were away from the constricting routine of the village and the talan.

They paused in the middle of the day to lounge and listen to the world around them, to allow it to seep into their bones. Lightstep’s grey eyes grew sombre, her mouth compressing into a sad line, and Shout noticed, looked quizzically at her.

‘It is just... I become aware of all the life around me. And how it is balanced by so much death.’ She sat up and sighed, hugging her knees. ‘Beneath us, living amongst the bark of the tree, there are thousands upon thousands of tiny creatures, too small to see, and their lives feed other creatures which in turn feed others...until one day, one of the top predators dies, and falls down in the leaves, and is eaten by the smaller creatures, and decomposes, and makes nourishment for the tree... which is not in any way a carnivore... it seems, whether I like it or not, death will happen.’

Shout nodded, his eyes darkening.

‘Death happens,’ he said. ‘And is it more important to the things that only have a few years, or weeks or a few days, because that is all they can expect? Or to us, who are meant to live forever?’

‘It is just as important to each and every thing,’ she said after a moment’s thought. ‘The differences are in how we perceive the worth of other beings’ lives, not how the created self sees its own.’

‘This is far too adult a discussion for us!’ Seer said. ‘Shall we talk about something else? See how the light plays through the trees! It tells me if we are to seek out the deer herd, we need to be on our way. We will continue in the canopy, towards the setting sun.’

In the last hour before dusk they reached the glade Seer had promised them and spread themselves out like blankets along the boughs of the trees, looking down into the open space beneath, across to each other; Shout was in an oak facing the other two who were sharing parallel boughs in a sturdy horse chestnut. All grew still and easy, the bird song taking on the lazy tones of the evening refrains; I am here, you are there, we each know where the other is... come to me, be my mate, the days of breeding are here... the continued life of the greenwood reassuring that their presence was not an intrusion, but simply an addition.

Too used to stealth now to gasp, Lightstep nevertheless took in an excited breath as a slow-stepping hind edged into the clearing beneath, her fawn at her side. Its long, long legs stilted its steps and the two stopped under Seer’s tree, the fawn to suckle, even as more deer faltered into the glade. Two of the hinds were heavy with unborn life, another had a fawn at foot, and two were alone but not obviously pregnant, perhaps too old, perhaps too young to breed.

After perhaps twenty minutes of grazing and allowing the younglings to suckle, a change came over the herd. One of the barren hinds lifted her head and scented the air before springing away in alarm. Within a heartbeat the glade was empty.

‘What was that about?’ Lightstep whispered.

‘Who can say?’ Seer shrugged against his branch. ‘Easily alarmed with the little ones at foot.’

In the oak opposite, Shout swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and reached down to free a knife from his belt. He gave a soft alarm call to alert his friends and when then stared at him, about to question, he shook his head, eyes intent on something above and behind them.

‘Lightstep! On my mark, drop from the branch; the tree will catch you. Seer, you too, fall to the outside of the tree.’

‘What?’

‘Why?’

‘Because if you don’t my knife might cut your pretty faces instead of those of the spiders behind you...’


	14. Shout, Lightstep and Seer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorion's skill with knives is much-needed...

Lightstep flinched, but she gave an infinitesimal nod and gathered her energies as Shout readied his blades.

‘Lightstep, now!’

She dropped as the knife left his hand and wheeled through the air to embed itself into something on the branch above where she had been but a heartbeat before. A hissing scream fractured the air and over it, Shout called out to Seer.

‘Down, now!’

As Seer rolled off to the left, Shout released another knife which hit something living, a thing that shrieked in pain and shook the branches.

‘Behind...’ Lightstep shouted up, but Shout had already sent a third knife over his shoulder.

Jumping down, he found a landing spot and glanced up. Visible now amongst the boughs and branches, three spiders in various degrees of pain, with knives sticking into their faces, wiped legs frantically at their eyes trying to shift the blades.

‘There’s another in the oak,’ Shout said as Seer lined up an arrow and shot the first spider dead from the tree. 

Lightstep already had an arrow nocked and sent it up into the canopy. The spider had no time even to scream before its limbs spasmed and it tumbled, dead, on the ground at their feet. She jumped back, wrinkling her nose, and Shout sent an arrow up to finish the one he’d wounded with his blade as Seer provided the same service for the last of the injured creatures.

Four bodies jerking in death on the ground, and Shout went to retrieve his knives from three of them.

‘Thank you, Shout!’ Lightstep said with a shudder. ‘I find there is some killing I do not mind quite as much as I had previously believed I did...

‘Strange things, close up,’ Shout said, pulling his blades out and cleaning them off. ‘You’d say ugly, but some of the colours on some of their limbs is almost pretty...’

‘Even the creations of Melkor are ultimately the creations of Eru Ilúvatar,’ Lightstep said. ‘But we cannot leave them here, can we? Consider if the herds come back? The scent will keep them away.’

‘Consider if the spiders are moving into this part of the canopy,’ Seer said. ‘Better for the herd to make its foraging place somewhere safer.’

‘Still, can’t just leave them here. Not out in the open, drag them off and into the undergrowth.’

‘Good idea,’ Seer said with a nod. ‘Of course, they’ll never believe this back in the village.’

Shout got hold of two spider limbs and began to drag the beast off towards the bushes. Its body was only a little longer than a fox, he realised; it was mostly limbs and they were three or four times the length of the body, making it seem far more imposing than it really was.

‘I shouldn’t bother telling them, then.’

‘But I have to report... and it was a pretty good fight!’

‘It was not!’ Lightstep said with scorn. ‘Shout did all the hard work!’

‘This is true. And, yes, at the time, it was alarming... what alerted you, Shout?’

‘Suddenly got a scent from the oak. It connected with the image from the other day, sticky leaves and spiders... then I saw how there was a branch growing wrongly behind Lightstep, and it was a limb with a spider at the end of it.’

Lightstep shuddered.

‘I am grateful, Shout. I do not like to think...’

‘I’m sure you’d have realised in time.’

‘Well, however it is, I am sorry, but I have to call our sojourn finished,’ Seer said. ‘There was so much more I wanted to show you, to explore with you, my friends, but the fact is, I ought not have set off with just two of you, and we ran into trouble. Had Shout not been so quick and good with his knives... our parents, our kin, our Elders will complain if we stay out, and I must report the deaths... even if I do make it sound less exciting...’

‘If you need me to back you up, Seer...’

‘And me,’ Lightstep added. ‘If ought I can say will help...’

‘Thank you. Would you... there will be time, now... come back home with me?’

*

They set a watch that night, even though the trees assured them all was well, and Seer moved them back towards the main trails, even though the others didn’t realise it; they had come close to real danger, and if the elders in the villages got to hear about it, perhaps they would not let him take out any more groups. So perhaps Shout was right, best not to boast about spiders slain.

Slowly, sadly, for none of them were ready to leave the forest, in spite of its spiders, they broke camp and set off, Seer leading them back towards the place where they had left their other selves behind.

‘The waystation isn’t that far,’ Seer said. ‘And from there, it’s only an hour or so to the main trails to my village.’

‘We’re not as far from a settlement as I thought, then?’ Lightstep asked.

‘No; I try not to plan the route, but the hunters sent to the Einior who told me to keep tight, this time, and told me to work from the closest to home I could. There are way-flets all over the forest for us, and in better times we can roam for scores of days...’

‘But not now.’

‘No, Shout. Not now. Sorry.’

‘It’s been good, though. Seeing how the forest works, how it fits. Going so far but only being a little way from where we started. Shows you could explore forever and not see the half of it.’

‘Yes,’ Lightstep said. ‘And how it is all interconnected; you explore one region of the forest, but through it you can hear beyond to the rest... it is wonderful!’ 

She stepped forward and gave Seer a brief hug.

‘And you have shared this amazing secret with us! Thank you!’

‘You’re welcome. I just wish...’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes.’

An hour into their hike back, a falling call from the trees, a whistled signal Seer responded to with a call of his own.

‘Hunters!’ he said, after exchanging a few more signals. ‘We should wait here.’

Scant seconds later, a swish in the canopy and two green-clad hunters jumped down. They had wide, wary eyes and wore the bifurcated boots favoured by their kind, soft-soled and separating the big toe from the rest, the better for balancing and gripping the branches. One drew her bow, the other his knife.

‘Don’t be alarmed,’ he said. ‘My leader is on his way. But you are the walkabout group, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was there not a fourth in your group? What happened?’

‘He could not come,’ Lightstep said. ‘Seer decided – as our companion Shout has an excellent knife arm – that a small and safe tour would be no harm. We were so keen...’

‘Well, and I am glad you have not lost someone. But when it is known...’ He shook his head. ‘Besides, there are dangers; a sighting of a small group of spiders in the area; and we lost their trail...’

‘You will find them in the undergrowth near the glade where the hinds gather of an evening,’ Lightstep said. ‘Four of them, at least what remains of them.’

‘Dead? All four?’

Seer tried for a confident shrug unsuited to his years.

‘I said Shout here was good with a knife,’ he said.

The group leader, hearing the story on his arrival a few minutes later, grinned and shook his head.

‘Audacious, still! Fern, go ask the trees about this. Then ask them to bespeak the home tree with word the youngsters are safe...’ He paused to exchange glances with his elves. ‘And then shall we...?’

‘Why not?’ the elleth said.

‘When will they get the chance again?’ the ellon seconded.

‘Agreed, then. Fern, off you go. Tell the home tree we will come the long way round.’

The elleth departed, running into the forest and up into the canopy and the captain turned to the youngsters. 

‘The reason you young people take short names on your wanderings comes from us, the hunters. It is easier, quicker, more confusing to an enemy. So the elleth is Fern, my friend here is Brook, and I... I am Swing.’ He nodded at them. ‘And you three, once Fern comes back... you are coming with us.’

*

And it was amazing. For a whole week more the three younglings had the best initiation to the forest they could have wished for; even Seer learned things. They ran through the canopy and up and down the trees like the little black squirrels; they revisited the herd of deer and were able, under Fern’s instruction, to get near enough to see two fawns born, on different nights, to see them stand on shivering, unsteady limbs and suckle, and their pelts dry, their mothers nuzzling them lovingly. They fished and swam and laughed, and learned the secret language of the hunters.

One of the first things they had done was revisit the site of the spider battle. Brook whistled.

‘Three dead of knives, one of bowshot. Shall we have a little target practice, see how you shape against us?’

And so they learned. But better, here they learned with the hunters, Shout showing them his skills with the tumbling knives and sharing his techniques with a laughing, flirting Fern. But so busy was he with his lessons that he didn’t notice and when Fern apologised later, he was a bit embarrassed he hadn’t seen it.

‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘For I thought, from your stature, that you were already of age and just here belatedly. If I offended or alarmed you...’

‘I? No, not at all... I didn’t... yes, I am very tall, for my age, and look older. But do not worry; I was not offended, Fern. Think no more of it.’

And Fern nodded and tried very hard not to, but failed; she was not uncomely, and while she would never have dreamed of flirting with one under age, she was used to being noticed, to eliciting some response...

As for Shout, he didn’t give it another thought, nor would he, not for another thirty years, at least.

But for the moment, he ran easy in the forest and found he had friends, at last.

Finally, the time came for them to collect the trappings of their old lives, to hug and try not to weep, and to name themselves, each to the other. The hunters withdrew for an hour to give them privacy for this intimate farewell that was also, oddly, an introduction.

Seer started.

‘My name is Bregon,’ he said. ‘And I love doing this, exploring the forest. When I am older, I would like to be a hunter. Or a warrior. Or perhaps, if there were such a thing, a combination of both.’ 

He scuffed his boot in the toe of the sandy soil.

‘My name is going to be Nestoril,’ Lightstep said. ‘When I come of age. For that is what I want to do, to be a healer, and I have already started training. That is why this is my last chance to explore the forest; soon I will be the most junior of underhealers’ assistants at the court’s healer hall... an honour indeed! But now, they call me Caraneth.’

‘Thorion,’ Shout said. ‘Except I’m nobody’s son, especially not an eagle’s. I was, once. Parents died, dragons, north. Brought up by nice people, Fasdes and Cadudor. Not my real parents.’

‘If they have loved you and cared for you, surely...?’ Lightstep began, but Shout moved quickly on from the pain of talking so about his past.

‘And the village youngsters are all far younger than me, follow me round, and if they get into trouble, I get the blame. Didn’t think, until you said, Lightstep, about changing my name when I get old enough. It might be wise; it feels sometimes like I died with my parents...’

‘Have you no-one of your own?’ Lightstep asked.

‘Got a sister, a bit older. She runs the business, would have me with her if she could. But I think Fasdes sort of likes me. She’s our healer, Lightstep, if you’re passing, ever, come and say hello.’ He nodded to Seer. ‘That goes for you, too.’

‘We will,’ Bregon said, nodding and trying not to gape at Shout. The confession – admission – of who he was, who his parents had been, stunned him. half the world had heard about the dragon attack on the little trading train, and the other half should be told; it had been a massacre and any who survived had to be marked out by the Valar for special work later in their lives...

‘Tell me about the elflings in your village,’ Lightstep said as they went on, under the escort of the hunters, towards the way point where they had met. ‘They sound quite a handful...’

Knowing this was probably the only time he would have chance to properly sound off about how he felt pestered and annoyed and... and bullied, bullied by little elflings fifteen years his junior, it was a relief to get it off his chest.

‘I don’t mind them,’ he said. ‘But I want to practice my knife throwing, and there they are, darting around the targets. Even though we arranged special times for me with the Einior, so everyone knows when I will be there and throwing... but still, there they are, running in front of the targets, hiding behind them and jumping out at me... and I am supposed to not hit them? Am I their parent, their sibling? Of course I am not! Yet I am the one blamed when word gets round they have been running about again!’

‘Oh, I do feel for you!’ Lightstep said, even though she was laughing as she said it. ‘But perhaps they take it as a mark of your skill, that you do not hit them.’

‘I would rather they sat behind and catcalled or cheered,’ he said. ‘One of these days, I am sure something bad will happen. And it will be my fault.’

He didn’t realise, of course, that all the while he had been sharing his concerns with Lightstep, Brook and Swing and Fern had been swapping glances over his head and wondering what in the name of all the Valar the Einior of Thorion-Shout’s village was doing, allowing such a promising youngster to be tormented in such a fashion...

At the waypoint they parted with many assurances of continued friendship. Such promises were always made at these moments, and sometimes, if not often, they held true. But at that moment, none of them knew it for a fact.

‘But, Thorion,’ Bregon said. ‘If I am allowed to take out another group, it would probably be good if I could say I had an excellent knife hand willing to help me... were you asked, would you come out again with me, as my second, perhaps?’

‘Would I?’ Thorion said, grinning. ‘It would be an honour, indeed!’

‘Well, we will have to see what the Einior says. But I would like that.’

‘And now farewell. For the now, at least.’

The hunters split up, Brook with Thorion, Fern with Lightstep, Swing with Bregon.

‘For we will see you safe home, each to your villages. And, Bregon, it means I will be able to speak out for the admirable way you comported yourself, for the skill with which you led your group.’

Thorion saw the trail to home some time that evening with a heavy heart. Brook saw the slump of his shoulders, and smiled.

‘There will be someone glad to see you, I hope?’

‘Yes – Fasdes and Cadudor, my foster parents. It is just – having been so free, to return to being so careful...’

Brook clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Go and hug your naneth – and before you tell me, she is not your naneth, well, she isn’t – and yet, she is... hug her anyway. But first lead me to where your hunters live, that I may beg a bed for the night.’

‘Of course. But... if you wish, I am sure there will be a place for you at our fireside.’

‘I’ll think on it, penneth. Ah, who is this?’ he asked and an elleth with her hair barely contained in her braids came to the door of a work hut and put her hands to her mouth.

‘Naneth,’ he said, as Fasdes came forward with arms outstretched hearing the word he used. ‘It’s my naneth, Fasdes.’

And although he didn’t see, when she hugged him, Fasdes was crying, but her eyes, fixed on Brook, were grateful.


	15. Making Allowances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the issue of Thorion throwing knives around the village come to a head...

Fasdes sat quietly with her hands folded in her lap.

It could not be coincidence that the Einior had called her in for a chat while Cadudor was busy with his teaching, while Thorion was at the practice range.

But if the Einior thought that getting her on her own was the way to make her comply with his wishes, he was much mistaken; she had survived dragons, so an underhanded meeting in the Einior’s hut was not about to faze her.

‘How may I be of assistance, Einior?’ she asked. ‘Are my healing skills required?’

‘They nearly were, Fasdes, they nearly were yesterday. That foster-son of yours, again! Throwing knives, and the little ones running around the targets! I thought going out into the forest would give him a sense of responsibility, but it is his third day back and already... It cannot go on!’

‘I quite agree,’ Fasdes said.

‘Good. As it is, I have had to set one of the hunters in the canopy to watch that no accidents happen; I did not wish to allow him to practice at all today, but I wanted to be fair and investigate properly just how reckless he is with his blades...’

‘My son...’ She stressed the word, for he was hers, now, in her heart. ‘My son is not reckless; he is a fine shot with bow and blade. In fact, if you remember the report from his walkabout, you will recall he protected his companions by using those very same blades against a spider attack.’

‘Yes, but that is not the point! Now, I think I have made allowances, I’ve been very generous, but there are limits, Fasdes...’

‘I see. And I do agree. Except... the allowances you have made have been all for others; you have made no such allowances for my son. You have not been generous to Thorion. Instead, at every touch and turn, you have supported the elflings allowed to run about the practice grounds, you have made allowances for them, indeed. It is not Thorion you have favoured, and, yes, there are limits. You have now reached them.’

‘Fasdes!’

‘No, hear me out! The elflings are allowed to run around the village as they will, to visit the practice grounds unsupervised, to annoy and tease and torment my poor Thorion who has to exert great efforts to control his temper...’

‘You see? He is dangerous!’

‘He is growing up! And those elflings, they would try the patience of the Valar! Yet he manages not to hurt any of them, even when they run in front of his target as he is throwing...’

‘He shouldn’t be throwing knives!’

‘But he has skill, he has been allowed and allocated the time, he calls before each throw; there is no more he can do to stop them and if it does one day go wrong, it will not be his fault!’

‘I do not believe they run about as you claim, Fasdes. Thorion must stop throwing knives by himself.’

‘If he was by himself, it would not be a problem; it is the fact that he is not alone, he is tormented by elflings old enough to know better...’

‘If you do not like it, you can leave.’

‘Yes. We will be ready to depart in a week, to give you time to send for another healer. And now, if that is all, Einior-nin, I will go now. I need to start packing.’

The Einior saw her go with a sigh. In truth, there were conflicting stories about Thorion and the elflings, the youngsters saying he didn’t mind them being there, he wanted them to play, the parents saying their offspring of course did as they were told and would never venture near the practice grounds, and Thorion saying nothing at all except he needed to practice and they had agreed he could if he shouted when he cast, and he did, all the time, but it was easier to listen to the many voices of the parents of the elflings, simpler to call one young elf to task… and besides, Fasdes and Cadudor had not been here that long... but his conscience was starting to prickle him; what if it was as Fasdes said, after all? And her skills and her husband’s were useful…

Well. Two days ago a new rotation of hunters had passed through the village, more of them than usual, and so he had decided to ask one or two of them to undertake the task of watching what actually happened at the practice grounds. They had no affiliation with any of the families of the village, and so would not stick up for Thorion simply because they had had his foster mother’s services, or his foster father was the village scribe, and although he said he had put one hunter to watch the events at the practice grounds, in fact he had three of them, at different vantage points, all hidden from sight so that not even Thorion knew they were there.

He had told the parents, too, that there were rumours that their elflings were, perhaps escaping their watchfulness and might just be complicit in the scares for their safety...

Because, of course, there were elflings turning up at the practice grounds; if there were not, then there would be no accusations of risk to them from Thorion’s practice...

Still, as the oldest elfling, he should know better than to encourage them.

*

So when the Einior had the report from the watchers, he struggled to believe it.

‘He does not encourage them.’ The hunter’s tone was level, certain. ‘He tells them, quite calmly, that it is his time to practice, that they are dangerous, thrown knives, as much as an arrow shot from a bow. And they laugh and giggle and taunt him.’

‘He is surprisingly patient,’ another said. ‘All he wants to do is work, to be the best he can. We need such skills as his, he is very good and could be better. In fact, I believe having to miss them has made him better and sharper. But it will not be his fault if one of them is hurt.’

The third hunter was, if anything, blunter.

‘What are your elflings doing running about at those hours, anyway? Why are they not in their homes? Why not let your knife thrower have an hour or two while they are working in the schoolroom? If they were my elflings, I would tie them to their seats! And if he was my son, I would be so proud that I would call the hunters out to work alongside of him, not to watch in furtive secret; he deserves praise, Master Einior, not blame!’

After that, of course, he could pretend no longer whose fault it was. And to give him his due, he did feel shame for an hour or so. He spoke to the elflings’ parents, he spoke to Thorion’s foster-parents and offered a cautious apology.

‘And if you would consider staying, we would be grateful,’ he said. ‘But the hunters say this has honed your foster-son’s skills. With your permission, they will allow him to train with the hunter group, and that will suit us all.’

Fasdes bowed her head.

‘Thank you, Einior,’ she said. ‘We will discuss the matter with Thorion and see what he wishes.’

*

‘With the hunters? And maybe go out with them, too, on patrols?’ Thiriston asked when he heard this.

‘That is up to the hunters. At first, I think it is just for practice. This will take you out of morning lessons, though, so you must try hard to make up the work...’

‘I will, Naneth, I will... thank you!’

‘I am sure Adar Cadudor will help with extra tuition, if you need it,’ Fasdes said. ‘But it shows, does it not, how good can come from ill?’

‘Yes, Naneth... I am grateful.’

‘Well, I think the hunters will expect you to work hard, and they will not make any allowances for you because you are a youngling,’ she said. ‘Try not to mind and...’

‘And govern my temper, yes, Naneth.’

But it was wonderful to work amongst elves who knew nothing about him except he could throw a knife, and he worked hard – harder than some of the hunters, the leader said ruefully to his second – and learned to relax amongst them so that, little by little, he began to talk, to let out little things about his life all unaware he was doing it, how he loved the forest, liked to draw the things he found there, flowers and trees and birds. How he wanted to escape the village, when he was older, but how he worried for Fasdes and Cadudor if he did.

‘Not my blood-kin,’ he said. ‘Well, Ada Cadudor, he’s my far cousin. Just nice people, kind.’

‘Well,’ one of the hunters said with a wink Thorion didn’t see. ‘Perhaps, once you’re happy and settled, they will have an elfling of their own to fill up their time.’

The other hunters laughed, hearing a reference here to the difficulties in having marital relations with a third person in the house. But Thorion never thought of that aspect of the remark, instead dwelled on the thought, perhaps too much.

Had Fasdes and Cadudor not had elflings of their own just because of him? Was he in the way? The thought burned at him, kept him awake at night until, on the third morning, Fasdes cornered him at breakfast. Cadudor was present, keeping out of the way but ready to support his wife if necessary, for Thorion’s brooding was always a worry and the youngling didn’t really seem to grasp that they actually loved him as if they really were his parents.

‘What has been troubling you?’ Fasdes said, not wasting time, because Thorion seemed better at the direct question than the gentle enquiry. ‘I know there is something.’

‘You don’t have any elflings,’ he said, and she smiled. 

‘We do, we have you. Although you are nearly grown up now, it’s true...’

‘Real elflings, I mean.’

‘You are real, Thorion,’ Cadudor said. ‘The love we have for you is real.’

‘Of your own. And it’s my fault, because I have been a handful, and a sore trial, and, and...’

Fasdes rose from her place and stood behind Thorion’s chair so she could put her arms around his neck and hug him, resting her head on his chin. This way, she knew, he would feel safe and he... he wouldn’t see her crying.

‘I cannot have elflings of my own, dear one,’ she said, trying not to let her voice be too sad. ‘There is something wrong with my body, the parts that would let me bear children do not function properly. So you see, it is not your fault, nor is it mine. And I am grateful that I was allowed to care for you, Thorion, for otherwise I might have been sad about this. As it is, well, I like to think we console each other, just a little.’

‘Isn’t there anything...?’

‘No this side of the Sundering Seas, no. But then, I have you, I have Cadudor, I have worthwhile work; I am content.’

‘But... Naneth... you...’

‘Hush.’ She hugged his neck and kissed the top of his head. ‘Consider; elflings require a great deal of time and attention, and both Ada Cadudor and I have work enough to keep us busy; really, my dear, I love my little family as it is. And but for you, you know, we might not have known our hearts.’

‘What do you mean, Naneth?’

Cadudor shifted along the bench so that he was opposite the two of them and smiled up into Fasdes’ eyes.

‘We do not often talk about those days, do we?’ he said, for he could see from the tears on his beloved’s face that she wasn’t going to find it that easy to tell a long and involved story. ‘But the thing is, we were on the trail amongst our own families, and we had seen each other, it’s true. But only to greet, formally. My own naneth was wondering if I was ready for a wife, and was thinking about the families she knew... for when you are trading, you are not often settled long enough to really get to know people, and the trading routes being so wide-spread, the naneths said, you needed to think ahead so that when you did meet up, you could look with an informed heart... yes, it is not at all romantic, is it? But sometimes love happens by itself, sometimes you need to give it a little help.’ He smiled over Thorion’s shoulder up into Fasdes’ eyes again. ‘And sometimes love throws itself at you.’

‘You may not remember,’ Fasdes began, sliding onto the bench beside her foster-son. ‘And there was so much pain and sorrow around that time that we have not tried to remind you... but only you, and Cadudor and I and a handful of the elves survived. A few of the Men, a couple of horses... So naturally, Cadudor and I drew close to support each other, and you. And the strangest thing happened; out of that horror, love came seeking and found us. All three of us, I like to think, Thorion. So the fact that my body was made differently became, not a thing that might hurt my fëa, but something that meant I would never need to worry whether I could share my time between you and any other elflings, that I would always be able to give you the time you needed. For after such a dreadful thing, of course we expected you would need more support than those who do not experience tragedy.’

‘I know I haven’t been easy...’

‘You have been wonderful, and loving, in your way, and brought me joy beyond any hope,’ Fasdes said firmly. ‘And most of your problems have been because other people have not respected you as they ought to, and nothing to do with your own behaviour. You are a good heart and a shining fëa, my dear one, and we are both proud of how you have grown.’

‘More so than we can say, but perhaps we should have tried harder. Now come,’ Cadudor said. ‘If you are off with the hunters this afternoon, I want an hour’s work from you in the study rooms first...’


	16. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorion begins to find his feet a little...

Time passed easily in the village, sliding through the next few years as Thorion spent longer and longer out with the hunters and grew more independent of Fasdes and Cadudor; indeed, Fasdes thought ruefully, seeing her large, strong foster son putting muscle upon muscle and growing in confidence, he had never been a clingy child, except when the nightmares claimed his peace.

But it was wonderful to see him come home, dirty, tired, with scratches on his face and laughter in his eyes, to see and hear and feel the strength of him as he reached out towards his coming-of-age.  
One night when Thorion was between duty-tours, Fasdes and Cadudor sat down with him for a family supper, an air of quiet contentment around the table. These last years since Fasdes had called the Einior’s bluff and been prepared to leave for Thorion’s sake had been better, happier for them all.

It seemed like a good time to have a discussion about the future, and so, once the meal had been eaten and cleared and they were gathered comfortably after, Fasdes raised the topic she had been wanting to broach for some time.

‘You come of age not three months hence, Thorion,’ she began. ‘In one sense, nothing changes; you are but a day older, a leaf-in-the-sunlight flicker of time. But in an instant, too, everything changes... your life rolls out ahead of you in all its hope and with all its choices ahead... what will you do, do you think?’

‘Join the hunters properly,’ Thorion said without a moment’s pause. ‘Then you can sail. Get healed, have elflings.’

‘Thorion! No!’ Fasdes protested, horrified. ‘That is – by all means, join the hunters, if that is what you wish – they think highly of your skills, we have seen you grow in happiness since you began working with them... but do it for yourself, dear one, not for me and Cadudor...!’

Thorion shrugged.

‘Well, I do like the life. Love the life, good at it, the trees like me, I... don’t know how else to show my thanks but to let you go. Let you know I don’t mind.’

‘It’s generous of you, Thorion.’ Cadudor joined in the conversation. ‘But you make it seem as if you feel you have been a burden to us; you’ve not, penneth, you’ve brought such richness to our lives and we have been blessed in you. I’m sure we will sail, one day, but we don’t have to go hurrying off in the next decade or so... and you could come with us, even then...’

‘Come with you? Really?’ Thorion frowned. ‘I never thought. Are there trees there, forests?’

‘I do not know,’ Fasdes admitted. ‘But your Adar Cadudor is right, you could come with us...’

‘There are trees, certainly,’ Cadudor said. ‘Lord Oromë has huge tracts of forest where he leads his Host to hunt... or have you forgotten your lessons so soon...?’

He smiled as he said it and was gratified by Thorion’s display of teeth in response... not really up on the social graces, his foster-son, but a good, good heart...

...and suddenly, he realised it would be a mistake to take him from the Greenwood at such a young age...

‘Well, Thorion, your life is yours, to spend as you will. And I am sure you will live long and well, whatever you do. But I think the hunters would suit you perfectly... perhaps you might even look at the guard, when you have a little more experience – not that you need training, but I understand they prefer to take those who have at least a century of living behind them. In times of war, it is different, I think. Now, thinking of your coming-of-age celebrations themselves, do you want to mark the occasion here, shall we invite Bronwenith? Or would it be easier if we went to her?’

‘My friends are here – the hunters, I mean. But Bron... not seen her in a long time...’

Fasdes and Cadudor exchanged glances. Bronwenith had tried to be a good sister, but while Thorion loved her, and claimed to like her, things had never been easy between them. The last time Thorion’s sister had visited, it had been only on the second day that the village was treated to raised voices and bitter remonstrances; Fasdes had been near enough to hear the entire exchange....

‘I would have taken you in, once I was old enough, but no, Thorion, you wished to stay in your trees!’

‘The trees don’t pretend to like me; they just do...’

‘Well, it’s hard to like somebody who says you should have died instead of your own mother, isn’t it?’

‘I didn’t say that! I never said that! I said, if you’d been there, she might not have died...’

‘It’s the same thing! And if I’d been there, I might have been able to stop it...’

‘See? That’s what I meant!’

‘It’s not what you said. And you said you hated me!’

‘Well, I did. Then. Not now, I...’

But Bronwenith had flounced off, too hurt and bitten by all that had passed to hear the approaching apology, and although Fasdes had later been able to bring the siblings a little nearer to understanding each other, things were not properly mended yet. It seemed to her that Thorion’s friends would understand and accept if he wanted to share the celebrations with his only living blood kin, but that Bronwenith would not at all see why he might want to spend the day with a group of hunters and not with his own sister...

‘There is time yet, penneth,’ she said. ‘But start thinking about what you want. And you might sound out your hunter friends, if they think themselves able to make a journey, and if so, how long they could be away.’

‘All right, naneth.’ Thorion nodded. ‘Something though. Want to say now so it won’t be a shock, hope you won’t be upset... don’t see why you should, but sometimes people behave not how I expect...’

‘Dear one? What is it?’

‘Going to take a different name.’

Cadudor bit down on the ‘Oh, is that all?’ in his mouth. Thorion was an odd one to read; younglings did it all the time, took different names from their childhood names; it was part of growing up. True, it wasn’t very Silvan... but that was the things, with trading families, you mixed more with non-Silvans, and non-elves, for that, and you could pick up all sorts of ideas... Thorion, though, seemed to think his foster-parents should mind...

‘Well, now, that’s not so very terrible...’ Fasdes said. ‘And you surely did not think I was born with hair shaggy enough that I was named for its wildness? No, I chose my own name since I rather like my wayward tresses. Besides,’ she added, smiling, ‘I like it better than Mouse.’

‘Thiriston,’ Thorion said. ‘It’s what I’m taking for my use-name.’

‘That’s an interesting choice, “Cut-face”,’ Cadudor said carefully. ‘Something to live up to.’

‘Although I hope it will not be your own face which is cut,’ Fasdes said, sliding an arm around Thorion’s broad, wide shoulders.

‘No, it’s... the hunters, they say I can cut the face off a fly in the dark at a hundred paces...’

‘And can you?’

‘Don’t know, never tried, why would I have to? But there was that walkabout I did, I cut the faces of some spiders... oh, I don’t know, like the sound of it, makes me feel I could do anything...’

‘You can do anything, dear one,’ Fasdes said. ‘And you are accurate, and brave... and, yes, it sounds well in the mouth... why should you not be Thiriston, if you wish?’

‘You don’t...? Thought you’d mind. Friend in the Beech group of hunters, he says his parents minded, their friends had an opinion, all his kin... if you did, you could still call me Thorion, if you wanted. But I sort of feel... have to leave him behind, if you understand.’

Fasdes nodded. Yes, she understood; by leaving his name behind, Thorion hoped to leave behind all the pain and grief and loss of his childhood behind, too. It didn’t work like that, of course, and she hoped the realisation would come on him slowly, so he had time to adapt to it, rather than in a huge, horrid, terrifying rush.

Because, of course, you couldn’t leave death behind with your name, you couldn’t abandon the nightmares and the fears; you had to wait until they abandoned you, and by taking on a strong, brave, threatening name Thorion, dear Thorion, was trying so hard to frighten away all the scary and sad parts of his past, not realising that they had made him, had helped to shape him into the fine young ellon he was.

One day, he’d find out. She just hoped he had some good friends around him when he did.

*

After consultation with the hunters, and one or two messages exchanged with Thorion’s sister, the little family decided that Amon Lanc was probably the best place to go; convenient for Bronwenith and not too far from the village. 

‘And, what is more, we will be packing up for good,’ Cadudor told Thorion a few days later.

‘Ada! No!’ Thorion said. ‘I don’t want you to have to move just for my stupid coming-of-age...’

‘Son, I hate to have to tell you this, but not everything is about you, you know...’ He laughed to take any sting out of his words, giving Thorion a brief shoulder-hug at the same time. ‘No, your Naneth Fasdes and I talked it over, we thought about what you said, sailing, and... well, not right away, but it’s a big decision and moving to Amon Lanc is a smaller one which will make it easier later on. Besides, she has a firm invitation to work with the healers there, and a teacher-scribe is always in demand...’

‘The Einior will not like it, will he?’ Thorion said.

‘No, he will not. Your Naneth is quite looking forward to telling him.’ He grinned at his foster son as Thorion laughed. ‘Well, the Einior has done things we did not like often enough. We are not going to say anything, though, until the day we leave. The talan will be left habitable; yours, if you want it.’

‘Why would I, Ada, if you and Naneth are not there? I’m joining the hunters...’

‘And do they not have homes, your hunter friends? I seem to remember hearing them speak of such...’

‘They’re married.’ Thorion hunched an uneasy shoulder. ‘I won’t marry.’

‘No, well, there are many younglings who say the same, and then fifty years later they meet the right elleth... or ellon... and then change their minds.’

Thorion didn’t notice the sideways glance from his foster father, or think anything of the mention of both males and females; it was like Cadudor, teacher that he was, to be balanced and correct, so to just say ‘elleth’ would have seemed odd. Cadudor sighed. He was fairly sure that what Thorion meant was he wouldn’t marry an elleth... well, perhaps the lad just didn’t realise yet that males could be drawn to males, not that it was much talked of, or approved, but it did happen and, really, where was the harm?

Still, today did not seem to be the day for that conversation, so he turned the subject to how many of Thorion’s hunter friends would be able to attend the celebrations; it was a much easier topic.  
 


	17. Thiriston Cut-Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorion comes of age and takes a new name...

The journey to Amon Lanc was as high-spirited a one as Fasdes could ever remember. She had delivered her news of the finality of their leaving like a stone into a still pond, and the Einior had still been rippling when their wagon had rolled out. A three-day trip, in kind weather, away from a place they had never really wanted to be anyway; why would not they be happy to leave? And, as Cadudor had said, both he and Fasdes had work waiting as soon as they wanted it.

But for the moment, it was good to be on the move again.

‘I have missed this,’ Fasdes said softly to Cadudor, knowing Thorion out of earshot on the trail ahead. ‘The rumble of a cart beneath me, the sense of motion... I have not liked being so still...’

‘I know, my dear. You know, we could have...’

‘No, we couldn’t.’

‘You’re right; we couldn’t, not with Thorion. But I’m glad we did it.’

‘Yes, he has brought such joy, even if he was troubled to start with.’

‘Oh, melleth...’ Cadudor sighed. ‘He will always be troubled, our poor foster son. But the world he is moving into, it will stand him in good stead; he already knows fear can be overcome. I think I am glad we are taking his advice, love, that once he’s settled we shall Sail. There are dark times coming, and if I were a warrior, I might not say it, but for all we have become healer and scribe, still, we are traders at heart and there will be no safe routes before long.’

‘Why? What has happened, what do you know?’

‘Oh, I had a word with one of those hunter chaps. He said they’re accepting striplings of eighty into the guard now... it suggests to me that somebody thinks there might be trouble coming...’

‘And Thorion? He won’t come with us, will he?’

‘No.’ Cadudor sighed. ‘No, his place is here... there is much for him to do ahead. We nurtured him for a short while, but... for all he calls us mother and father now, we are not his parents.’

*

They took lodgings for two months in the talain village around the hill, and found Bronwenith had already got herself a little talan, too, for a similar length of time. Those of the hunters who came – and Fasdes’ heart threatened to burst with pride when she saw how very many had come – were quite happy sleeping in the trees, or accepting invitations to bunk down with the families in the area who had room; hunters were honoured and respected guests for keeping the forest clean of evil.

The ceremony itself was simple; Thorion, his friends and family gathered under the starlight to acknowledge his coming of age with song. He announced his intention to renounce his childhood name, and told all gathered his newly-chosen one. They bade farewell, then, to Thorion, and greeted Thiriston, although Fasdes saw Bronwenith shudder as she spoke the new name.

Happy in their talan in the outer settlements, Cadudor and Fasdes appeared to all intents and purposes to have settled in. But barely a few weeks after Thiriston’s naming night, they quietly packed their bags and Thiriston saw them down to the trail.

Bronwenith was there, too, to see them off.

‘We’re leaving the wagon for you and Thiriston,’ Cadudor said. ‘We will not need it. We’re only going as far as the Silverlode on foot; it’s not that far and there will be a boat waiting there for us, and we meet up with a larger company at the south gates so we will not be alone for long.’

‘We are grateful,’ Bronwenith said. ‘Thiriston will stay with me, of course, unless he’s off with his hunters.’

‘I’ll worry less about him, knowing that,’ Fasdes said. ‘Well. Time to go. Hugs, penneth, and we will see you in later days; be sure to bring me lots of stories of the forest.’

‘I will, Nana Fasdes,’ Thiriston said, hugging her, his face crumbling into a fierce scowl as he tried not to become too emotional. ‘Ada Cadudor, thank you, both of you, I... be well.’

*

It was strange, he hadn’t expected to feel so sad when Cadudor and Fasdes had gone from sight. Hadn’t realised how much they’d meant to him, over the decades. 

‘Come.’ Bronwenith slid her hand through his arm. ‘Come along. I’ve got spiced moss tea waiting. And for all we’ve been seeing each other every day for weeks, you still haven’t really talked to me, Thor –Thiriston...’

‘Use the old name, if you want,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Family, you’re allowed to.’

‘And what is this, missing out words?’

‘Quicker. Hunter thing. Got to be a habit, I suppose.’

Bronwenith’s lodgings were in a pleasant little beech grove on the outskirts of the hill of Amon Lanc itself. Once there, she poured out the tea into wooden cups; traditional moss tea was always better out of traditional drinking vessels – and sat Thiriston down in the place of honour near her little hearth.

‘What will you do now?’ she asked.

‘Hunters. Next tour in three days, out west away. You?’

‘I have a trading trip planned, just towards Moria... I know, dwarves...! That’s why I didn’t tell your pretend moth...’ She broke off. ‘Sorry. I’m glad you had Fasdes and Cadudor, Thorion, I really am... but I had no-one and at times it felt like they took my little brother away from me... I understood why, but we were all we had left of Nana and Ada for each other...’

‘Bron... they were good to me. Doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you. To be fair, we tried, didn’t work. I suppose it was never going to, really, not until now. Anyway, think they thought it’d hurt less if I was away from the trading hub...’

‘Well, they were probably right. But the thing is about hurting, Thorion – it’s only after it hurts that you properly heal.’

He gave a big shudder. ‘Oh, I hurt, Bron... I know you lost them too, but... you can’t imagine what it was like, being there...’

‘Then tell me,’ she said briskly, patting his hand. ‘We’re in the centre of the protected circle, talking isn’t going to make anything bad happen...’

‘Not until tonight, when I reverie. Then I’ll tear the place down with yelling...’

‘Thorion – Thiriston, if you want... nobody ever told me. Vayne didn’t trade again, he went away and died of winter chills the following cold season; they said his heart broke. The elves who survived had already left the train when you got in, I never saw them again. And after a few months Fasdes and Cadudor took you away, don’t you understand, my little brother, my only kin, they took you away! All I knew is the train was attacked by dragons...’

Thiriston breathed out slowly, shaking his head. It wasn’t simply that he didn’t want to remember, but that it was hard, now. Elves remembered much, and tended to live the memories, almost, feeling once more those emotions that they’d felt at the time of events... the elfling Thorion had been encouraged to let the memories of that night, that time to slide away and now, now he was asked to bring them up again, to feel anew all the fear and terror and sadness, to remember the smell...?

‘The smell,’ he began abruptly. ‘Still when I’m near roast boar, I feel it again, a sticking, cloying bitter scent in my nose. Acrid. Nasty. Where the humans were burned, they smelled like roast boar. Didn’t realise at first, all night shoved in some crevice, it could have been breakfast. Felt proper sick when I realised...’ He paused to sip moss tea and grinned, an unveiling of teeth. ‘Didn’t eat roast meats for years after. Seemed like there were dozens of the things, some bodies were lying there just dead, unburned. Well. What was left. The dragons... there were only a couple, so I’ve learned, but it seemed like more. Suppose they were just wild creatures, hungry, you know. And we... we were food. Ada... our Ada... not burned. Holding naneth’s hand when we found her, they tried not to let me see, didn’t realise I already had... Later, I found out, cold drake, their breath kills but doesn’t burn.’

‘And... and Naneth?’

‘No. Just her hand, her arm. Rest of her was gone.’

‘Oh, sweet Eru, have pity...’

Thiriston shrugged. He was crying now, and so was she, but the tears tracked down his face unconsciously, while Bronwenith sobbed into her hand.

‘Anyway. They didn’t want me to see, so I pretended I hadn’t seen,’ he said. ‘Glad Ada didn’t burn, glad he was with Nana when...’

The talan felt cold, suddenly, grey and shadowed with pain and ash and blood.

‘Nana knew,’ he went on into the chill. ‘She knew, and she saved me. Put me safe in a crack in the rocks, told me not to come out, that I had to be brave. That she and Ada loved us.’ Me, she said me, she didn’t mention you, didn’t say, Tell Bronwenith... but she would have done, surely, if she’d had time...? ‘Us. They loved us,’ he went on, hoping it was right to say it, to make up the little lie, make Bron feel better. Well. Less bad.

Because after this, nothing could ever make you feel better.

‘Thorion, I... Sorry, so sorry... you were so little... but if I’d been there, if I’d gone...’

‘Wasn’t room for two, in the rocks,’ he said, shrugging, trying not to think about it too much. Because, Nana knew, and Thorion had heard them talking, saying, perhaps sailing was a good idea, and then no, because what of Bronwenith? Because he didn’t dare think about that, it would make it all Bron’s fault...

‘Why didn’t you?’

‘Someone had to mind the business; Ada never grasped that, no point being on the trade routes if you had nobody to sell your goods at home to finance the next trip, the sales he made at the end of the run were never much more than enough to cover the cost of the journey... She sighed. ‘I think Ada just liked being on the move...’

‘I know. I think I missed it, too, that’s why I like being with the hunters. Well. Thanks for the tea. Need to get back to the talan now.’

‘Is that it?’ Bronwenith asked. ‘You don’t intend staying with me? I have plenty of room, after all...’

‘Might take you up on that, later. But talan’s mine for a while. I’m off with the hunters soon, circling westward. Be good to have a base to come back to, but... lodgings, you said? Where is home for you now, really?’

‘Really?’ She sighed. ‘Nowhere. A wagon on its way to or from; I can’t settle, can’t find anywhere, Thorion, that feels like home, not since...’

‘The village I lived in, talan’s mine forever, got the deeds and everything. Could try there, if you like. Bit off the trade routes, Einior listens to the ones who shout the loudest, but it’s nice enough. If you want.’

‘That’s kind of you, Thorion, but I need to be near a bigger settlement, I think. Perhaps you could rent it, let another family use it and earn a little? It might come in handy one day, if you were to marry...’

‘No, don’t think I will, Bron. You get to love people, they die, or they find some other way to leave you. Had enough of that.’

Bronwenith sighed.

‘Yes, I know what you mean. But I don’t think I can live like that forever, not myself. I think I need someone around. Well. Very well, off you go, you know where I am if you need me, here for a little while yet before I set off.’

Thiriston nodded and hugged her awkwardly goodbye. Given the choice, he wouldn’t come back, because then he’d have to be there to wave her off, and he was a bit fed up of partings for the moment.

*

As it turned out, though, his hunter pack had been assigned to Bronwenith’s convoy. They gathered around their captain one evening shortly before they set off, to go over the route.

‘Trading with Dwarves, even Dwarves they seem to like and trust, they still want support,’ Romdor, the captain said. ‘Although they say it’s because there’s trouble from spiders and wargs...’

‘Spiders I can understand, but wargs? This time of year?’ the second queried.

A shrug. ‘So they say. But perhaps it’s to hide the fact they don’t trust the Naugrim... I mean, I don’t know, never met any, can’t say myself. But... not made by Eru, but by one of Eru’s making? Is it right?’

Thiriston joined in.

‘Seems to me,’ he said, ‘that we weren’t made by Eru either; we were made by our parents, and they by theirs, and it’s a long way back to the creation of the First Ones...’

His remark had them all thinking for a moment and then they burst forth in a little flood of protest.

‘Oh, now wait a moment...’

‘You can’t mean it...? But...’

The captain laughed.

‘I know what you mean, Thiriston, and, well, no. After all, elves make other elves... but perhaps you’ve got something. Lord Aulë made them, yes, but Lord Eru approved them. He could have let them be destroyed but, in his wisdom, he saw for them a purpose...’

‘Yes, to plague and cheat elves at every turn!’ one of the hunters laughed.

‘Well, we do not have to have anything to do with them; our job is to protect the convey from spiders and wargs and other dangers. They can do all the Dwarf-stuff themselves.’

‘How close to the convoy do we get, Captain?’ Thiriston asked. 

‘Most of us will just shadow. I’ll be intermediary, might need another voice if they won’t take advice, why, are you volunteering?’

‘No, not me. Just my sister’s wagon’s amongst them. Haven’t told her yet. Keep me in the canopy, I don’t have to...’

A burst of laughter at that; Thiriston’s shyness was almost legendary, although not all the hunters realised what lay behind it.

‘Who is she, is she pretty?’ the second asked.

‘Bronwenith. With me as her brother, what do you think?’ Thiriston showed his teeth.

‘Oh, I’m sure nobody could be that plain...’

‘No, suppose she’s pretty enough. No judge myself, though. Not really.’

‘Sorry, Thiriston – you’ve just sealed your fate – you’re my support amongst the convey.’

‘Captain! Can’t do that, it’s the Second’s place...’

‘Yes... you’ve just become my second Second for the convoy. Well, I need someone in charge of the canopy elves while we’re the visible escort.’

‘I... but... only just of age and there’s fellows here... I...’

‘Shut up, Thiriston, it’s just a little promotion, well-deserved, nobody minds, it’s only for riding with the convey. Trust me, once we’re back on real work, I’ll bounce you down the ranks again.’

Thiriston huffed out a sigh. 

‘Promise?’ he said. ‘Don’t want to be pushing forward...’

The actual, official Second laughed.

‘Modest to a fault! No, what you don’t realise, you’re big and broad – are you sure you’re not part-cave-troll? People will pay more attention to the captain with you standing behind him, that’s all it is.’

‘All right, then. Suppose I’d better tell her, then.’

*

Bronwenith was cautiously delighted.

‘Not that I mind, but... do you? Being this near a convoy, again?’

Thiriston shrugged.

‘No dragons round here, just wargs in season, spiders, a few orcs here and there, not that they’re saying.’

‘And don’t forget the brigands. That’s why we want protection, brigands. Not that we’ve anything of value, really, on the way out, mostly supplies. We’ll trade for better value goods; word is, there are some lovely things coming out of Eregion at the moment, and if some of their traders are there... there’s a lot of coming and going with the Dwarves there, it seems to work well, as long as everyone remembers who they’re talking to...’

‘Some of the hunters asked if you’re pretty.’

‘And you said...?’

Another shrug.

‘Said you were pretty enough. But what do I know? Anyway, you said you wanted someone around, could do worse than my captain; he’s a grand fellow, Romdor; handsome, brave, he sings well...’  
Bronwenith raised her eyebrows at her brother. Was that how it was? But it seemed that Thorion – Thiriston didn’t realise what was behind his enthusiastic endorsement of his captain.

‘Well, I like his judgement, if he’s made you his other Second,’ she said. ‘And as long as you don’t mind it, I think I’ll enjoy having you guard my wagon, little brother!’  
 


	18. On the Road Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bronwenith's convey sets off, with its escort of hunters...

Really, Thiriston found, it wasn’t so bad.

Nobody amongst the convoy had ever travelled with Thiriston’s parents, so there were no awkward memories and comments, his relationship to Bronwenith was acknowledged, he thought, with a lot of pride on her part. 

She seemed to like his captain, and his captain in turn spent a good bit of his down time in Bron’s wagon... not that Thiriston minded, not even the teasing from the other hunters.

‘Captain had better watch out, if he breaks her heart, what bit of him will you break, Thiriston?’

‘Brave ellon, that, to tangle with the sister of a great hulking brother like you...’

‘You think I’m strong, you should see Bron when she’s cross,’ Thiriston said, grinning. ‘She can take care of herself, that one.’

*

It wasn’t long before they left the shelter of the forest proper. The hunters were no more visible for that, however; they blended into the scrub and grasslands almost as effortlessly as they had the trees.

It was, however, a long, long journey, all the way down along the side of the river, making their way from one settlement to another, exchanging news and trading a few of their goods, topping up supplies when necessary. One village headman stuck out his lower lip when they convoy leader asked how things had been.

‘This far south? Not so good; unseasonal attacks from wolves, too many bandits around – and not all of them look...human...’

The elves laughed and the headman went on.

‘No, no offence, good elves... I meant... not allies. Not elf or man or dwarf, even, but... well, between the height of both, but ugly as a three-day carcass and smell worse. Rough and harsh of voice, armed with... well, not swords or knives, not really. Just sharp bits of metal and poisoned arrows... they use poison a lot and seem to attack just to destroy... so far, we have been spared, but two days south and across the river...’ He shivered. ‘So we are grateful there is no crossing near here, but we are preparing to defend ourselves and if any of your brave warriors could show us how to fight, we will give in exchange lodgings and food...’

They stayed two days, although the captain grumbled they were doing the work and the convoy getting the best of the rewards, but if there really were these wild raiders around, the more people able to fight against them, the better.

‘Orcs,’ the captain said to his company around their campfire that night. ‘Not run into any for a long time myself, but it sounds like orcs. Anyone else had any dealings with them...? Hmm. Fewer than I thought... not you, Thiriston? Well. I take it everyone has at least heard of orcs...? That’s something, then... Of course, some of you may have just heard fireside tales, which are widely different from the real thing... Well. They shun sunlight, which means they will attack at night by choice. They are ugly, cowardly, cruel and delight in violence. If you are captured, they will kill you, don’t doubt it – but they like to play with their food, sometimes... hope they are not feeling playful if you are taken, if you cannot quickly fight your way out, find a way to quickly die...’

‘Surely not, Captain? How can it be that bad?’ one of the hunters asked.

‘The stories tell how they used to be elves, once. They were taken and twisted and spoiled and made into things of hate. And of all things they hate us most, for we are what they once were, or could have been... it is not a pleasant thought, to consider there may be a pack within two days of our position; the river is not so wide that news of them crossed it; what of themselves? And I know we’re in a village, but tonight, every night now, we set a watch.’

*

In the morning the captain summoned the heads of the wagons and sat them down with his hunters to give them all a briefing about orcs. If at first some of the traders laughed, others grew quiet, concerned. Bron was amongst them, and spoke up when the convoy leader tried to diminish the captain’s warnings.

‘No, you do not know what you’re saying; you do not know orcs. Well, I do...’

Thiriston stirred at this; his sister gave him an apologetic shrug.

‘No, Thiriston, I did not tell you, for you had problems of your own, and it was a while since... just a small pack, under shadow of the mountains when we were taking supplies to the people further north; they say the mountains are riddled with tunnels and caves and the orcs like it there... just a small pack, half a dozen, maybe even just a scouting party, but they came on us after moonset one night. Half the horses were taken before we knew what had happened, the first to shout a warning fell with an arrow through his throat and they tried... tried to drag his body off. But we were many, and strong, and had some good fighters with us, and yes, they are ugly, and they smell, and are cruel... but they can be killed. Their blood is black. It stains. So do not laugh at the captain, these are not goblin stories to frighten naughty elflings and keep them near the home wagon. These are cruel and murderous creatures whose blood is stained black with the evil of their hearts. Captain, if you would offer us the chance to brush up our archery skills, I would be most grateful. And, I would add, my brother is a fine shot with a tumbling knife... perhaps, Thiriston, you could share with us your tricks...?

‘Glad to, Bron,’ Thiriston said. ‘If my captain doesn’t mind...’

‘I think it’s a good idea. Get the villagers involved, too.’

*

So Thiriston spent the morning demonstrating to one group after another how to throw a knife, any knife, almost nearly straight, but certainly hard enough to do some damage. He wasn’t too busy, though, to spot his captain showing Bron how best to hold her bow, actually touching her arm and elbow as he guided her.

Thiriston tried not to growl and later joined his sister for the day meal.

‘Captain Romdor likes you,’ he said.

‘And I like him. Oh, don’t worry, he’s not my forever-love, you don’t need to worry! He’s fun, and why should I not have a little fun?’

‘No reason, I suppose. Except... should I worry about you?’

‘No, little brother, in fact, it is I should worry about you – you’re old enough now to be breaking hearts yourself, but I never seem to see you with someone...’

‘Not found anyone I fancy yet.’ Thiriston shrugged, not wanting to admit to more, that ellith didn’t move him. ‘Besides, better make my way in the world first a bit.’

Bronwenith recalled Thiriston’s previous laconic but heartfelt praise of his captain. She frowned but said nothing; her brother was, perhaps, a late bloomer. And then again, he had a certain look to him; he had nice eyes, but he hadn’t quite learned how to smile yet; he was big and strong, and broader than most elves, giving him a bulky appearance that was almost threatening; it would be a brave elleth indeed who approached him with romance on her mind...

But he was a good fellow, at heart. Travelling like this, seeing him a little apart with his company, she could see he was a respected member of the troop, the captain spoke well of him (and not just to impress her, she thought), and his companions were used to his gruff ways, including him in the easy laughter of their friendships and not caring that he didn’t quite fit in.

She sighed. Well, he’d had a difficult childhood... true, it hadn’t been a good time for her, either, and while she’d hoped they could draw closer together and support each other, Thiriston – Thorion, of course, then – had been just too young and too damaged by what had happened for that to come to pass... being older, having work had saved her, Bron thought, from the worst of it.

At least now they were starting to be friends again, and she sent up a private prayer to whichever of the Valar had arranged matters so that Thiriston’s troop had been allocated escort duty.

At the same time she sent up another prayer – that her brother wouldn’t have to deal with orcs in the near future. 

If her own experiences were anything to go by, they were much worse than dragons...

*

Alert to the possibility of orc attack, they made the next stage of the journey with wary caution. The world outside their forest had suffered much upheaval in recent decades, and although Bronwenith, with her trade connections, heard some of what had happened, much of it seemed too far-fetched, too outside her experience to give much credence to. Elves had sailed east, sailed back, one family was forever quarrelling about some special jewels, and swearing oaths and attacking the Great Enemy... half the world had fallen into the sea... it had affected them but little, isolated by the great mountain range of the Hithaeglir and going about what really were small trading journeys up and down the forest and its edges. Sometimes there had been refugees, men and women, humankind, with scared voices and dirty faces, but mostly it was easy to ignore the stories about a new darkness; these were humans, what did they know, really, about life?

But now the convoys were branching out again, perhaps they needed to pay a little more attention to the stories, however odd... certainly, the new settlements of men seemed secure enough, other than from orcs...

*

No problems at all on the run out, they pulled in to the trading outpost to a cautious welcome.

‘Silvans, indeed! We’re more used to dealing with Dwarves, these days!’ the elleth in charge said, wrinkling her nose. ‘And you’ve been on the road quite some time to judge from the state of you...’

‘That’s true,’ the convoy leader told her. ‘But when last I was here, mistress, I dealt with Sindar and Galadhrim... had I known there’d been a Noldo take-over...’

‘Well, you are here now. What do you have, what do you bring?’

Trade was trade, and for all she sniffed at them, the elleth was glad to do business with several of the traders. Bronwenith’s cargo, though, she didn’t think highly of.

‘Oh, we don’t want that stuff here! You might find some dwarves who might be interested... but they are always looking to their own pockets, so you will need to keep your head about you when you are talking to them!’

‘I’ve traded with dwarves many times before,’ Bronwenith said. ‘So I understand the niceties of dealing with them. In fact, my cargo was selected with their requirements in mind; time was there was a dwarf station here; some of my kin used to trade with them…’

‘Well, not any longer! They were always more trouble than they were worth, and recently they’ve grown more suspicious, harder of heart towards us. Two more days west, that’s where you’ll find their main trading post,’ the elleth said. ‘If you want to bother, that is.’

After discussions with the convoy leader, it was decided that most of the wagons would stay where they were, rest the horses for a while. Two other wagons had goods for trading with the dwarves, too, and so those elves were eager to go with Bron to seek them on the morrow and nominated her leader of their little convoy.

‘Well, you can’t go unescorted,’ the captain said. ‘We’ll split the company, Thiriston, you can go with your sister, if you like... and I’ll find another three or four to go with you.’

Thiriston nodded. ‘Glad to be able to keep an eye on her.’

Romdor grinned.

‘Get her away from me, you mean.’

‘Ah, now, Captain, you’re both of age. Not my business.’

*

Three wagons, five hunters. It didn’t seem much of an escort to Bronwenith, given there were possibly orcs around, but the leader of the convoy had resisted more than that. Thiriston had shrugged. As Second-in-Command, he was in charge, so while he’d have liked more guards, it seemed enough of a challenge to order four elves around…

‘Don’t worry, Bron. You’ve got me. I can fight for two, if I must.’

And Bronwenith allowed herself to laugh, but secretly wished for more guards; after all, the main part of the convoy had the security of the trading post to draw on; she and her little train were going into almost unknown territory and with the rumour of danger on the trail…

The first day passed in safety, Thiriston riding on the roof of her wagon looking forward, and another hunter on the rear wagon, looking back. The remaining three ranged the countryside around, always within whistled communication of the convoy.

‘What are they saying?’ Bron called up. ‘Thiriston, what are they saying?’

‘That it’s good the captain isn’t here, or you’d be distracted from the trail,’ he called down. ‘Oh, and something about a good place to stop for the night.’

‘We have a long way to go before we halt.’

‘Just looking ahead to the next billet, that’s all, sister. It’s one of the things we hunters like to do.’

That night, Thiriston took first watch. They’d managed to find a stand of mixed deciduous woodland to shelter near, and once his relief had taken over, he spent a few minutes amongst the trees, listening to their mood. Their signals were drowsy, sluggish and at ease so, reassured by the trees’ somnolence, he bedded down for the rest of the night on the roof of Bron’s wagon, looking up at the jewelled stars until his eyes opened to silvered reverie.

 


	19. Business Opportunity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston encounters his first Dwarf... and his first Orc...

It was the middle of the next afternoon before there came any hint of trouble, and only then an unfamiliar scent on the breeze. 

‘Orcs!’ Bronwenith said with a shudder and glancing up at where Thiriston sat on her wagon roof, his legs dangling over. ‘Far off, still.’

He nodded and sent out a whistled signal which received answers from the hunters in the scrub around.

‘They say they know; seems to be stale, an old scent moving off. Doesn’t seem like a big group. But I’ll double the watch tonight.’

The wagons drew close together for the night, the horses corralled between them. The waggoneers gathered around Bron’s fireside to whisper and murmur and ask her about orcs.

‘We have our hunters with us,’ she said. ‘And we will smell any orcs before we see them; we see in the dark as well, if not better, than they do and we are quick and limber; we will not be taken by surprise. And my brother says the hunters report nothing in the area, and only a few of the creatures, seemingly heading away from us. Even so, keep your bows to hand; they may turn on their trail.’  
Thiriston, this time on second watch, relieved his hunter on duty.

‘It’s been quiet, of course,’ the hunter said softly. ‘There is no alarm from the night, not here, but there is a stillness I do not quite put down to nocturnal patterns… a watchful quiet.’

Thiriston nodded. ‘I’ll keep alert.’

He patrolled softly, nodding as he passed the other hunter on guard. Occasionally they held terse conversations:

‘Smell’s gone.’

‘For now.’

‘Don’t trust it, myself.’

But the time passed and his relief sought him.

‘Quiet enough,’ Thiriston told him. ‘Not sure it’s a good quiet, though.’

‘Get some rest, Captain Cut-Face! We’ll be fine.’

‘First sign of anything. Call me.’

*

He woke with a start, hand on the knife in his belt, jumping to his feet and remembering just in time that he was on the wagon roof. Below, the watch prowled, alert, and sounds drifted on the air.

The smell was back, still far off, but stronger.

‘What?’ Bron’s head appeared out of the wagon. ‘Thiriston, if you’ve got to sleep on the roof, don’t stamp so!’

He slid down, sending out a piercing whistle calling the hunters to gather.

‘Reports?’

‘The scent’s stronger.’

‘I said, first sign of trouble…’

‘But you woke, Captain Cut-Face; it’d only just started…’

‘All right.’ There was no point making a fuss about it now, not if there was trouble coming. ‘What do we think?’

‘Thiriston!’ Bron, dressed and with her bow in her hand, hurried up. ‘There are voices on the wind; I am sure it is dwarves… are they under attack?’

‘Come! I asked you, what do we think?’ Thiriston turned to the hunters.

‘Might be,’ one said. ‘Two different sets of calls, anyway.’

‘We must do something!’ Bron said. ‘We have to help!’

‘But it’s just dwarves…’ one of the hunters said. ‘Rather them than us; we’re too few…’

‘Thiriston! Please…!’

‘Bron…’

‘Your friend there says, just dwarves. But they are not just dwarves to us; they are a business opportunity! If we help them, they will remember it.’

‘Your sister should be the first to realise, they wouldn’t help us…’

‘The dwarves I used to know would have helped us. If things are so changed, then we should help put matters right!’

‘Can’t just leave them to die,’ Thiriston said. ‘You two, stay with the wagons, finish your watch. You others, with me. We’ve got a bit of tree cover, get up into the canopy, see what’s happening.’

‘I’m coming too,’ Bronwenith said. ‘Or you might save the dwarves from orcs only to find them thinking you’re a new threat.’

‘Captain Romdor isn’t going to like it.’

‘No, pretty sure he won’t. Just keep everyone safe and we’ll be back before you know it.’

*

Thiriston headed off along the trail towards the sounds of fighting, the two hunters following, weapons ready, Bron close at his side.

‘Will you get in trouble for this?’’

‘Caechon’s right, Captain won’t like it.’ He shrugged. ‘Likes you, though. Put in a word?’

‘I… Thiriston! We’re not… haven’t… I…’

She flustered into silence and they continued on their way, going as swiftly as they could in silence.

The noises kept coming, shouts and yells and disturbing half-sounds, not far now, and Thiriston wondered just how fast orcs could travel, was the camp far enough away for safety? Only thing for it, if it was orcs – make sure none escaped.

*

The smell of burning now, yells closer, the hunters advancing more slowly. Thiriston shook his head. This was no good, get there too late…

‘What do we do, Bron?’

‘What do you mean? You’re the hunter!’

‘You’re the dwarf expert…’

They crested a rise and saw below them a small camp. Tents were burning, small shapes fighting larger ones, the smaller fellows coming off worse, outnumbered. Several lumps on the ground around suggested the violence had already ended in death for some, and Thiriston slid a handful of knives free.

‘Captain was right, they are ugly, smell bad…’

‘Yes, but which are the orcs?’ one of the hunters muttered. ‘They’re all ugly and smelly!’

‘Dwarves have beards,’ Bron said sharply, rose up and loosed an arrow which hit one of the attacking orcs in back of the thigh. ‘That, that’s an orc.’

With a shout of rage the creature turned. Thiriston stood up and yelled:

‘Ware the blades!’, releasing three knives one after another to land in the first orc’s eye and then, as others turned at his shout, the faces of two more. ‘Loose arrows!’

The hunters with him knelt to fire. One shaft hit home as the orcs twisted away towards the new threat. Off to one side, Bron saw one of the orcs grab something that struggled and yelped, and head into the bushes.

‘Over there!’ she shouted, and made off, leaving Thiriston to follow or not. He growled.

‘Keep at it,’ he told the hunters. ‘Hold them back – can’t let any of them past us, if they find our camp…’

He leapt after his sister, trying to head her off, and was in time to see the orc drop its bundle and turn to snarl and jump forward brandishing a rough sword. A knife in its throat felled it and it lay,   
twitching and gurgling out its life on the grass.  
‘  
Look to its captive,’ he told Bron, and hastened back towards the dwarf camp.

Of perhaps a dozen orcs, five were still fighting, but even as Thiriston readied his remaining blades, one stumbled with an arrow behind its knee and the dwarf fighting it brought his axe down hard, decapitating the creature. Two tried to flee, and Thiriston sent four knives off after them, hitting one hard enough to bring it down; he turned back to see the dwarves had felled one of the orcs and the last pair were wounded, staggering, sprouting arrows and his hunters were advancing towards them, weapons ready.

The last orc tried to flee, but one of the dwarves let loose a yell and sent an axe flying through the air towards it. The weapon tumbled and spun and hit its mark – the back of the orc’s head – to embed itself so deeply that only the handle protruded and the orc twitched into death.

Nodding grimly to himself in acknowledgement of the skill of the thrower, he went to collect his blades.

 

‘Thiriston! Over here!’ Bronwenith shouted, and he pulled free his knives and hurried towards her voice.

‘What is it? Little chap okay?'

A stream of snarling invective came from the dwarf who was bleeding badly and struggling to rise.

‘Thiriston! That’s very rude, you know!’

‘Sorry, just meant…’ He scowled and tried to remember his manners. ‘Didn’t know they’d understand Silvan… Master Dwarf, how can I serve?’

‘Help me up,’ the dwarf said in a rough approximation of the liquid sounds of Silvan elvenspeech. ‘This female won’t let me.’

‘M’sister. Bit bossy. Can she bind up your leg, first?’

‘No, she…’ The dwarf leaned on Thiriston and tried to rise, his leg giving way. ‘Very well. But I haven’t asked for help, remember!’

‘What?’

‘Of course you have not asked,’ Bron said, slipping onto the common speech and getting to work quickly with a makeshift bandage. ‘We would not dream of asking for recompense for our actions here; we will consider the exercise as useful target practice for the hunters, and so there is no fee… as long as you and your kin-friends will not expect any remuneration from us for whatever reason…’

The dwarf tried to laugh, but wheezed instead, reverting also to the neutral ground of common speech.

‘You know your way around a dwarf agreement?’

‘I’m a trader, I and my friends used to deal with the honourable dwarves of the northern mountains. We have three wagons an hour or so along the trail, headed for the trading outpost.’

‘Who did you know?’

‘Frar and Fraeg and their good people,’ Bron answered. ‘I am done, Master Dwarf, with my bindings.’

‘Obviously, you were practicing. You, brother of the trader, you, can help me up to pay for your insolence.’

‘My brother has never learned the trade languages,’ Bronwenith said with a withering glance at Thiriston as she swapped back to Silvan. ‘Our companion asks you help him rise.’

‘Glad to. They call me Thiriston.’

‘Do they so?’ the dwarf asked, hauling himself upright against Thiriston’s arm.

‘Sorry, not met any dwarves before. No offence meant.’

The dwarf sighed into his beard.

‘Nyi son of Sviur at your service.’

Bron dropped a curtsey. ‘Bronwenith and Thiriston Cut-face at yours, and your family’s,’ she said. ‘Come, we are anxious to meet your companions.’

The two hunters and Nyi’s fellow dwarves were looking warily at each other across the bodies of the dead orcs. Once the injured dwarf had been given into the care of his friends, Bronwenith sighed and took charge. Under cover of giving Thiriston a lecture, she managed to explain that all respectable dwarves were rightly suspicious of anything done or offered for free, as it was often a ploy used by humankind to ingratiate themselves and expect favours. 

‘This has often given rise to the myth that dwarves are not generous, whereas really, they have been duped in the past and simply like to know what anything will cost ahead of any agreement. But likewise, they are keen to inform anyone doing business with them of the cost of their services, also. In cases such as this, where we interrupted their fight with the orcs, one might be anxious lest we would claim to have saved them, and want paying for so doing. Whereas, of course, it was in our interests to participate, since our wagons are up the road and we have goods to trade, which we cannot do with dead dwarves as easily as with living.’

It seemed complicated, to say the least, and once Thiriston had gathered up all his blades and Bronwenith had argued no, the knives were not rightful plunder for the dwarves to take, since Thiriston’s knives had all hit their orcs and delivered mortal blows, so they were his kills, he stopped listening, really, and went to join the two hunters at the edge of the little circle that had formed around Bron and the leader of the dwarves, Nyi’s cousin Hepti.

‘You two unharmed?’ he asked quietly.

‘Only our senses have been assaulted,’ one said. ‘By the smell.’

‘Orcs and orc-blood, really stinks, yes,’ he agreed, hoping the hunter wasn’t making a reference to the dwarves; it had been hard enough to offer them help without offering them insults as well. ‘Glad you weren’t hurt.’

‘What now, Captain?’

What now indeed? 

The reminder that he was in charge, that he’d led his first command into battle against orcs was shocking, almost. Apart from spiders, he hadn’t killed anything before, not deliberately, and orcs, twisted and warped mockeries of elves, were very different. Evil though they undoubtedly were, they were thinking, speaking creatures, an enemy rather than vermin, and the enormity of it made him shudder… but at the same time, there had been something exhilarating about the fight, a sense of thrill he’d never got from killing spiders.

‘Send a message back to the main company, tell Captain Romdor what’s gone on. On the way, let our hunters know we’re all right.’

‘I’ll go,’ both hunters said at once.

Thiriston scowled. The one who’d been making sly comments about dwarves, yes, could do without him… but he wasn’t likely to present Thiriston’s judgement in leaving the wagons to help dwarves in anything like a good light… the other, though, was less likely to cause an incident if he stayed…

Well. Thiriston’s shoulders were broad enough.

‘Edemben, you can go. Tell the captain the whole orc troop’s dead and I’ll make him a written report soon as there’s time. Gwain, you go as far as our convoy, tell them to bring the wagons… ask someone to drive Bron’s for her, or you do it yourself. Want us together as soon as we can. We’re heading the same place as these dwarves, so might as well journey on together. Mutual support in accordance with proper agreed arrangements, of course,’ he added with a glance at where both Bron and the dwarf Hepti were now looking at him. ‘Meanwhile, this is near enough the main trail even if we don’t find common ground.’

‘Let me write a note for Ioristhel,’ Bronwenith said. ‘She can drive our wagon while her brother takes charge of their own. And tell them, yes, now, don’t wait for morning; it will be daybreak shortly in any case.’

 


	20. A Friendship Forged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston learns a new skill...

There wasn’t time, in the aftermath of the skirmish, to take stock, there wasn’t time to even begin to understand the nuances of even talking to dwarves, and Thiriston didn’t have much in the way of the common speech anyway. 

So once he’d gathered up and counted his knives, cleaned them and put them away, he basically did whatever Bron told him to.

‘Even though it does look like you’re bossing me around,’ he said.

‘Well, if you’d bothered to learn the common speech, I wouldn’t have to do all the work translating…’

‘But that Nyi fellow…’

‘Is a rare exception in his use of Sindarin which is close enough to our tongue for us to speak freely with him.’

‘He be okay? Nasty wound, that.’

‘Dwarves are tough,’ Bron said. ‘He’ll be fine, there was no poison on the blade. But I wanted to suggest something. Their ongoing journey and ours is on the same trail. It makes sense for us to travel together; we’ll be stronger if there are more orcs around, and it will give the dwarf company time to see what wares we carry; an arrangement to our mutual benefit.’

‘Makes sense.’

‘I’m not sure how our hunter escort will react… and you are the captain…’

‘Don’t think Edemben will hurry back; he’ll stick with the main convoy. Gwain’s all right; might need it explaining, but he’ll agree, I think.

‘Good. And I want to offer Nyi a place in our wagon; it will mean we’ll get on faster.’

‘Strange ways they’ve got.’

‘Different from us, certainly,’ Bron said cautiously. ‘But once you understand why, a lot of the differences make sense. When trust breaks down, having a written agreement is a good substitute.’

‘Suppose so.’ Thiriston shrugged. Trade agreements were something he knew a bit about from the family, but really, he’d never wanted to go back on the road, not really. That Bron was so much at ease on the trail constantly surprised him. 

‘Anyway, there’s a matter I wanted to mention. I can act for you if you want…’

Apparently, the orcs Thiriston had killed were his for plunder, according to the dwarves, and there was a dispute over whether a dwarf axe or one of his knives had killed one or two.

‘Who’d want to strip an orc for plunder?’ he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

‘You’d be surprised what they carry, things they’ve stolen from their victims,’ Bron said. ‘Hepti was telling me. And one of the disputed bodies has a belt of woven dwarf hair…’

‘Well, I don’t want that!’

‘No, but the dwarves do.’

‘They can have it. Have them all for plunder, not something I want.’

‘Yes, but it would be seen as too generous – what would you want in return at some future date? When would you call in the debt? So…’

‘An axe,’ Thiriston said abruptly. ‘I want an axe, or a pair if you can arrange it. And someone to show me how to throw them.’

‘That’s a lot to ask…’

‘That’s a lot of dwarf hair…’

Bron shook her head at him.

‘Well, I’ll see what I can do.’

*

The subsequent discussion and negotiations seemed to take an inordinate length of time; Thiriston took it upon himself to prowl the perimeter and make sure there were no other dangers lurking around the camp. One of the dwarves was doing the same, taking the opposite direction. When they passed each other for the first time, the dwarf bowed.

‘Ginnar, at your service,’ he said in rough Sindarin and, having learned the correct response, Thiriston bowed in turn.

‘Thiriston, at yours and your family’s.’

‘Good fight, no?’

Thiriston grinned. No elves had been hurt, no dwarves had died.

‘Good fight, yes!’

The dwarf grinned back, and they passed on their way.

Three slow circuits of the camp later, the discussions seemed to break up and the dwarves began to sort through the remains of their camp, discarding burned and beyond-repair items and making piles of salvageable goods. 

Bron came across to where Thiriston had halted.

‘It’s agreed. You waive all your rights to the bodies and in return we will be given a pair of throwing axes. It’s up to you to arrange someone to show you – between ourselves, I think the best bet is just to start hurling them around like you do your knives; if it’s wrong, there’s going to be a race to stop you disrespecting the weapons…’

She paused, waiting for him to grin.

‘As to transport… yes, Nyi will accept a place in our wagon so that he can ensure our goods are up to standard – which means he’s going to test out everything, so it might eat into the profits a bit – but in return we get a dwarf escort to the trading post and an introduction to the dwarves there, which will almost certainly mean we’ll get a better deal on whatever’s left after we’ve fed our friends…’ She sighed. ‘I know, it’s all very formal and unfriendly, I suppose, but the dwarves have been let down so many times in the past this is the only way to make things right between us, to honour their ways…’

‘Glad I’m just your hunter escort, Bron, not your trading partner…’

‘Well, yes, I suppose… but it’s still a family business, you know. So, I came across to get your formal agreement to the terms, if they suit you.’

‘Yes, can’t wait to get my hands on the axes…’

‘Ah, well. They’ll be delivered once we reach the trading post…’

‘Wanted them now, Bron, surely…?’

‘I think all the axes are personal possessions. Imagine being asked to give up your favourite knives… only then imagine they’re twice as important to you. Dwarf axes have names and history, they are handed down and even given beer to drink… you can’t just expect someone to hand over something that special…’

‘Whose hair was that belt made from, anyone they knew?’

‘That’s a good point and, you know, you have more of a head for dwarf-trade than I realised. But, Thorion - you can’t insist. Not about this.’

The use of his old childhood name showed how serious Bron was about this, so he sighed and nodded. 

‘All right. Let them know I’m not happy but from respect, won’t make a big thing of it.’ A swooping whistle rising through the trees drew his attention for a moment. ‘Gwain’s signal. They’ll be here soon, better tell the dwarves.’

He sent a call back and went to meet the hunter who came to meet him.

‘Wagons are a half mile back on the trail,’ Gwain said. ‘And everyone’s glad your sister’s safe. But I should warn you, Edemben isn’t happy that we were involved in this little skirmish…’

‘It’s to our benefit, though, making allies with the dwarves.’

‘Well, I think his family had trouble with dwarves somewhere or other. Or the dwarves had trouble with them, who can say? But yes, it’s becoming darker outside our borders, and we need to make friendships where we can.’

*

The trip down to the trading post went relatively smoothly. The other waggoneers had dealt with dwarves in the past, and so were used to their formal ways and apparent unfriendliness – which was not, as Bronwenith hastened to explain, not unfriendly at all, really. And while Thiriston didn’t actually get his hands on any throwing axes, a sort of compromise was reached when Ginnar came to him after they’d halted for the night.

‘Ginnar. Greetings.’

‘You throw knife, I throw axe. We make target. Winner gives beer, yes?’

Thiriston raised his eyebrows. It had become known through the dwarf company that one of Bron’s trade goods was a couple of crates of the heavy, malty beer favoured by the dwarves; Nyi had already sampled it and said it was passable, and so Bron had had to lock the rest away, just in case.

‘Have you got beer to give, Master Dwarf, when you lose?’

Ginnar showed teeth in almost as scary a smile as Thiriston’s.

‘Not going to lose. But if so, give lessons in axe.’

‘When I win, will I need lessons in axe? Very well, then. One bottle of beer against two hour’s teaching.’

‘That is much for one bottle of beer.’

‘You heard Nyi; it’s passable. That means, excellent, but he won’t admit it.’

‘Very well. Agreement is reached.’

*

The targets were set up according to some arcane rule that meant dwarves didn’t have to throw as far as elves, even though their axes had theoretically better range and accuracy over distance. Thiriston raised an eyebrow and shrugged and asked Bron to tell them all that he didn’t mind what might seem an unfair advantage, even though it really wasn’t, because he was good enough to cope… 

When passed on, this drew appreciative noises and calls from the gathered dwarves.

‘They say you’re all right, for a great big hulking thing,’ Bron passed on. ‘Now make sure you win; I’ve got two bottles of beer and a jar of hot sauce riding on this.’

Ginnar threw first, hitting his target just a little off-centre, Thiriston watching, trying to take in everything from the proper stance to the moment of release, the number of tumbles they made in the air, all in the heartbeat it took for blade to meet target. Applause followed.

Thiriston took up position and eyed up his own target. Half as far away again, it was still within his reach of marksmanship. He took his knife, felt for its balance, extended his arm, drew back and released to hit closer to his one centre than Ginnar’s axe had on his.

It was the elves’ turn to applaud, but Thiriston noted the dwarves joining in, recognising the skill of the throw.

‘Ready?’ Bron asked Ginnar and so it began again…

At the end of the bout, Thiriston had lost by a blade’s width and some cheeky reinterpretation of the rules by Ginnar, but he felt he had seen enough of the method of axe-throwing to have a fair idea where to start and when Ginnar offered to share his winnings, defeat was much easier to take for the sake of a friendship forged.


	21. Reprimanded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston's captain has Words with him...

The rest of the trip was as near to convivial as you could safely expect with dwarves and elves in the same company. There were seven elves to six dwarves, which Bron said was good, as were the dwarves more outnumbered they would feel threatened, but as it was, Gwain kept himself out of the way much of the time, scouting ahead and behind, and once he was a little more recovered, Nyi deigned to sit on the driving bench with Bronwenith in a show of mutual almost-friendship that kept matters calm.

Arriving at the Dwarf trading post to realise rumours of the orc skirmish had got there ahead of them, there was a relieved welcome and courteous thanks to the elves for being willing to establish a travelling agreement with the dwarves. Bron smiled at Thiriston when he grumbled about why not just say friendship instead, and shook her head.

As Bron had hoped, arriving with the dwarf company stood the waggoneers in good stead with the trading post, and everything they had to trade was accepted with only the minimum of beard-wagging and head-shaking.

‘Because you know there’s nowhere else round here you can trade it,’ one dwarf said, and Bron smiled.

‘But beer is beer and, after all, who is there for you to trade with also? And we must be on our way soon, so you must decide by the time our horses are rested…’

‘I can see it will be a kindness to your beasts for us to take all your beer… the crates are heavy when they are full…’

Within a few hours the horses were rested, the last of the deals had been struck, and by the time they headed back to join the main convoy with lighter wagons and fuller coffers, Thiriston was proud owner of a pair of throwing axes and had received more than an hour’s teaching from Ginnar; he wasn’t expert, by any means, but he had the makings of a good throwing arm to start with and there were other things you could do with throwing axes; the dwarf had taken him through a few basic moves and privately, Thiriston promised himself he would practice hard at this; the blades were formidable weapons in the right hands.

As they passed the site of the skirmish and the pyre where the stripped bodies of the orcs had been burned, Thiriston shuddered. He’d relived the fight over and again in his mind, at night, when he was supposed to be sleeping… the smells, the shouts… the danger in the dark, the satisfaction of seeing his knives hit and hit and hit again, felling their target, killing the enemy, and a dark, frightening joy rose up in him at the memory and he realised he would never be the same again.

*

The reunion of the little convoy with the main caravan was happy, for the most part. Some of the elves who had stayed began to wish they’d brought dwarf-goods as well as the standard loads, especially once they heard of the profit margins… 

‘But then we would have had to deal with dwarves and really, I don’t know…’ more than one elf said, and Bron had laughed.

‘It’s not always this easy to turn a profit,’ she said. ‘But for their little orc problem, I doubt all would have been so easy.’

What was less easy was Thiriston’s reunion with Romdor; he knew he was in for trouble when Edemben came to say, with a smirk, that the Captain would see him now…

‘Walk with me, Thiriston,’ Romdor said, leading him away from the camp and hyperactive ears. ‘How was it? Really?’

‘Gave you my written report.’

‘Yes, but I want to hear it, not read it. What happened?’

‘All right.’ Thiriston frowned, remembering. ‘Noises on the breeze woke me; sentry didn’t bother. Said it’d just started. Smelled orcs. M’sister said it sounded like they were attacking dwarves; wanted us to go and help.’

‘So, on your sister’s say-so…’

‘No, not that. Strategic. If it was orcs, and they got away, they’d come for us next. Or you and the others. Figured attacking them on two flanks, give us the advantage, better than being just sat here, targets with civilians to keep safe. Split the guard, left some with the wagons, took two with me. Bron came too, translate, sort of thing, and she can fight. Well. Half a dozen dwarves, twice as many orcs. Killed all the orcs, dwarves grateful, in their own way. Only don’t tell them I said that.’

‘Yes, but… what were you THINKING?’ the captain raised his voice suddenly. ‘I know it was your first command, but why shouldn’t it be your last?’

Thiriston shrugged. ‘I was thinking, don’t let any orcs get away and maybe let others know we’re here. Sir.’

‘All right.’ Romdor clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Edemben, amongst others, was expecting me to tear a strip off you. Consider yourself reprimanded. So. How was it, really? Your first fight against something sentient?’

‘I…’ Thiriston struggled. ‘Amazing,’ he said. ‘Never good to kill things, but when you know they’re out to kill you… felt alive, awake, felt… that I was doing what I was always meant to do. Something I’m good at, at last.’

Romdor nodded.

‘And what about your future in the hunters? Are we going to be enough for you?’

‘Sir, I,’ He shook his head. ‘Yes, I want to say yes, but then, what do hunters do? We keep the villages safe, the people. We sit on flets and make sure the spiders are held at bay. Keep the trails clear. Shoot the odd warg here and there. And it’s good, it’s useful, it’s…’

_…not enough…_

‘It’s been wonderful, and I… I never thought I’d want anything else, but…’

The captain nodded sympathy.

‘I understand, I do. It happens a lot; many who go into the guard begin as hunters. They learn the forest and the ways of it, they discover what’s important, what needs protecting. And they are happy to guard and protect, to kill only when there’s an immediate threat. But the orcs and wargs… they were an indirect threat, a danger to us all, but not obviously so. I think, Thiriston, while you’re welcome in the hunters, always and forever, there are bigger targets for you to fight than spiders and wargs and keeping the home talain safe. I know they’re taking youngsters of eight decades these days, but you’re only just of age, and it wouldn’t do you any harm to work with the hunters for a few decades more – if you’ll take my advice.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ he said. ‘And am grateful. This has been fine, being in the hunters, but… there’s more I think.’

Romdor nodded. ‘There’s always more,’ he said. ‘But, Thiriston – you won’t find it as easy to fit in with the guard; there’s more formal training, more discipline… if you’d gone against orders in a formal company, we wouldn’t be having a talk about it – you’d have been demoted down to the lowest rank, lost all privileges, probably have some sort of penance to do – digging latrines, that’s one of the popular ones, or mucking out the Royal Stables… so bear that in mind. You could do it – I’m sure you could do well – but sometimes you don’t take orders easily…’

Thiriston gave a shamefaced smile. ‘Noticed that, did you?’

‘Well… now you come to mention it…’ Romdor grinned, then grew more serious again. ‘If you will take advice – and it’s only advice – give yourself time. You’re still growing into yourself, still finding out what you’re good at and where you need to work. A few decades or so and you’d find it much easier in the regulars than you would now. But whatever you want to do, if you need someone to speak up for you, I will.’

 

 


	22. Escort Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston finds a new role for himself...

‘You’ve been quiet,’ Bronwenith said as they entered the last leg of their journey back to Amon Lanc, leaving behind the final village before home. ‘You’re not exactly a chatterbox at the best of times, Thorion, but you’ve got something on your mind; I can tell, you know.’

‘You going to keep doing that?’ Thiriston asked.

‘Doing what?’

‘Family name. When you’re worried about me.’

‘Probably; it seems like a good way to remind you that we are family, and that I care about you. That was a fine attempt at changing the subject, by the way. But it isn’t going to work.’

Thiriston sighed. He was officially off-duty for a few hours and so was riding next to his sister on the driving bench; unless he wanted to leap off the wagon, she had him cornered.

‘Something Captain said. After the orcs.’

Bron sighed.

‘You know he had to tell you off; although what we did was right, and sensible, and worked out well, you did technically lead your hunters into danger and abandon your post.’

‘Only half of it; you were my post too, you know. And left hunters behind me with the others. But it wasn’t that.’

Since her little brother seemed about to leave the matter there, she gave him a shoulder-bump.

‘Well, what then?’

‘That I don’t fit in. It’s true, and hunters are good about it. Half of them are the same. But I want… I know what I want now, Bron, and hunters is good, we do really important things, keep people safe in their homes, on the trails, keep the trees clear of spiders, all that. But this trip… showed me something. There’s bigger things to keep you safe from, Bron, and I could do it. Fighting orcs, fighting with others beside me, even if they were dwarves… and I don’t mean that bad as it sounds, I like the little fellows – being part of something bigger. Hunters isn’t enough any more, Bron. Sorry.’

For Thiriston it was a huge speech and a massive outpouring of his heart. Bron was respectfully silent for a moment, nodding to show she was processing the import of his words.

‘I think – and I see this a lot with trading amongst so many people, I meet more people than you’d imagine – I think not-fitting-in is a lot more common than we realise. Nor is it a bad thing, to be able to think independently, to be unafraid to be the one dissenting voice when what you know is right… but think a moment. Why is it that trading families trade? Why do we wander about the land in wagons and apart from so-called normal settlements? It’s because we’re all of us a little bit different, we’re most of us misfits.’ She paused to sigh. ‘But then, what happened to you… it’s made everything harder for you, I do see that… and you’re doing better, you really are…’

‘Don’t. Don’t talk down to me.’

‘I wasn’t. I meant… look at you with the dwarves. They’re difficult at the best of times, and most elves don’t even try. But you – you seemed to like them…’

Thiriston shrugged. ‘Why not? Never did me any harm.’

‘Exactly! Because you took the trouble to try! You didn’t listen to the prejudices of the other elves, you made up your own mind! If that’s what not-fitting-in looks like, little brother, then we need more of it! But… this is all leading somewhere, isn’t it?’

He nodded.

‘Want to join the guard. Maybe the standing army. Do something bigger for the forest. For our king.’

‘Oh… I see... yes, I understand now, the fitting-in thing, that might be more of a problem for you in the guard.’

‘That’s what Captain says. Also said, I’m young, sort of still growing up, and they only take you from four score year onwards. He says, hang on for a bit, then see.’

‘I think that’s wise advice, if you think you can do that?’

‘Might be able to. Might have to. Knowing I’m working towards something, and it’s not forever. Thirty years or so, he said.’ He gave a grin and nudged her. ‘Give you and the captain time to get to know each other…’

‘Thiriston! I am not… we are not… I…’

‘Wouldn’t mind if you was. Good fellow, Romdor. Could do worse.’

*

Around the small cookfire on their last camp of the trip, Bron stirred the stew in her bowl and didn’t look at Thiriston when she began to speak.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ she began. ‘And this is just an idea, a thought, but it might work well for us both. We have two wagons; this one, and the one Fasdes and Cadudor left for you… we won’t need both…’

‘What, sell one?’

‘No, I was thinking… hire one out. Or both of them; I… there’s never been actual fighting on the trade routes before, and the elleth we met at the trading post, I didn’t like her attitude… there’s something about Noldor, they can be funny, sometimes…’

‘Superior with no reason for it.’

‘Well, they claim they have a reason; they listened to the Promise and they sailed.’

‘Yes? See how that worked out for them?’

Bron laughed. ‘Yes, exactly, and now they’ve come back or their parents did and they’re full of Ada’s tales of the Undying Lands, and how terrible it’s been being trapped here, and yes, since the War of Wrath and now they can go back, they could have gone back, but they don’t quite feel like it... but they still look down on those who never sailed and never wanted to…’ Lifting her head, glad her brother hadn’t refused the idea outright, she returned to her main theme. ‘You see, I thought I wanted to go back on the trail, but after this… the danger… I know we were safe with you, but not every convoy will get an escort, and… I quite liked running a trading post, when I didn’t have to. I think, with the rent from two wagons, making deals for the elves who hire them to make space for some of my goods… it’s the best of both worlds. And, yes, I would be settled in one place, so your Captain Romdor had better decide where in the forest he wants to be, for once the rent’s due on the Amon Lanc talan, I’ll be heading north. Rumour says it’s safer there. Well, further away from the dangers, at least.’

*

As good as Bron’s plan sounded, it wasn’t to be put into action, not for a good while. Before the time in their respective talain was up, the news spread throughout Amon Lanc that King Oropher had decided to move his court and his capitol and the entire population north beyond the Dwarf Road… and all those with available wagons were called upon to help with the upheaval. 

It did, at least, keep the siblings together, as Thiriston’s hunters were once again called on to escort the wagons. The first major stop was in Lorinand, where the company stayed for some time while Oropher canvassed the mood of the people as they mixed and mingled with new folk in the Vale of the Singers. 

But the king didn’t settle, somehow, although by rights he should have been at ease amongst other Sindar…

‘They’re saying we’ll end up beyond the Dwarf Road when we finally settle,’ Bronwenith confided to her brother, and he shook his head.

‘Don’t like the sound of that. Bit far north for me.’ 

‘Yes… there’s something about our king not wanting to be near the dwarves…’

‘What?’ Thiriston raised an eyebrow. ‘Hasn’t he heard of the Grey Mountains, then?’

Bronwenith hid a smile. ‘Well, whatever’s going on, we’ll be moving on again soon, mark my words.’

And so it proved. Oropher sent word out through the forest that those talain-dwellers who wished for protection of the king must leave their homes and follow, to settle elsewhere. There was no order that they had to do this, but each of the edicts read out in each of the villages ended with the reminder that the Silvans had asked Oropher to be their lord, and by so doing, their obedience to his lordship was implicit. Thiriston found himself offered the choice of joining a combined company of half a dozen hunter groups which formed an advanced scouting party or to run with one of the groups escorting the main exodus. He chose the latter, citing his wish to be near his only surviving relative as his reason, and was granted permission. That the story got back to Bronwenith and made her smile and blink away a few tears she didn’t tell him, just accepted his taciturn announcement as if it was quite natural.

‘Don’t fancy this big company of hunters. To many new faces. Going to stick around the convoy. Got a group willing to take me in.’

Finally, after several stops and starts, after years of staying a while here and reconsidering, moving on and stopping again, the company crossed the Dwarf Road and reached the wide sprawl of the fir-covered Emyn Duir.

(‘Mountains!’ Thiriston muttered, and ‘are you all right?’ Bron said under her breath…)

‘This is it!’ the herald called, moving down the line of the wagons. ‘Home, at last! Make your camps, tend your horses, collect your goods, we are here!’

*

‘Well?’ Bron demanded of her brother as they settled at the edge of a communal feast as darkness fell over the camp. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Have to be,’ he said with a shrug. ‘But… forest mountains, not the same. Not open, scary. These are good mountains.’

‘So… if we’re here, then, if this is home… what’s next for you?’

‘Never mind me, what of you, Bron? Not seen Romdor for a while…’

‘Well, remember, he transferred to the advance party to clear the way ahead…’

‘He still came at first. Stopped coming after that, Bron. Well?’

Bronwenith sighed. ‘Well, the truth is, you won’t see Romdor again, not at my hearth. He’s… it’s been lovely, it really has, but he’s not my fëa-mate, nor I his… and so, as we’re settling down, as everyone will be looking about them, we’ve decided to part as friends. Before people start to notice and perhaps make things hard for us… and I… yes, it was time, Thorion, and he’s not forgotten you, he’s still going to speak up for you if you need it, but… he thinks you won’t need it now. That’s one thing about escorting the exodus, isn’t it? You’ve had to mix with more people. You’ve had to learn how to get on with everyone.’

‘True.’ He looked again at the brooding, exposed opening into the forested mountain. ‘Don’t think I’m going to get on with living in there, though. Last time I was inside a stone shelter, it didn’t end well.’

‘Oh, I don’t think we’ll be actually inside the mountains, will we? After all, we’ve the wagon to live in, we don’t need such shelter. And I’ve a family asking if they can rent the second until they’ve got a talan sorted, so I hope you won’t mind bunking in with me for a while?’

*

They did see Romdor again; he and Edemben sought them out a few nights later.

‘Just as a courtesy, let you know what we’ve been told by our commander,’ Romdor said. ‘Apparently, this really is it… we’ve had a look around, and for leagues about the forest is clear, and welcoming, and there’s even a few talain settlements round about. We’ll be establishing a perimeter of watch-flets, close to the camps to start with, and then widening out as we settle and set up home in the trees. There’ll be a garrison with proper training grounds, and latest news, Thiriston – they’re looking to recruit for the guard proper. And you’re old enough now, if it’s still what you want.’

Before Thiriston could answer, Bronwenith leaned forward.

‘Thank you for your news, Captain. I know my brother’s keen to join the guard, but I think he wants to see me settled first, don’t you, Thiriston?’

‘Um…’

‘And you’ll both stay to eat with us, I hope. There’s a lot to catch up with, I’m sure.’

*

As soon as Bron had found a spot she liked and had a talan built in an oak on the wooded slopes surrounding the new seat of governance, Thiriston applied for guard training.

‘Thinking about what Romdor said,’ he told his sister. ‘He was right, I needed time. But I’ve had time, and it’s still what I want to do. Training camp’s off in the woods, temporary encampments to start. They’re looking for a lot of new blood, so I hope they’ll take my hunter training into account. Should have half a chance, I hope, if Captain Romdir remembers his promise.’

‘Well, you know where I am, if you need me,’ Bron said, not arguing, not now, for perhaps Thiriston was right, and it was as good a time for him to make the move as any. ‘Perhaps now we can hire out the wagons and I can set up a little trade post; for all our good King Oropher wanted to take us away from Dwarves, we’re not that far from the Dwarf Road, not really, and there’s talk of an outreach village if he will permit it…’

‘Well, hope it works out for you, Bron.’

‘And you, my dear. Oh, don’t look embarrassed; if nothing else, these last decades wandering around together have given us time to get to know each other properly. And you are dear to me, you great big lump of an elf!’

‘You too, sister,’ Thiriston said. ‘Only you’re not big and lumpy.’

‘Ha! I suppose you think that’s a compliment? Oh, wait – from you, I suppose it is!’


	23. In The Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston is successful in his application to join the guard...

To Thiriston’s delight, he was accepted for training without any problems and set his mind and heart to the task of learning to follow orders exactly, to maintaining the standards expected, to being disciplined and self-disciplined… and to try not to take the jibes of his fellow recruits to heart.

For there were jibes, at the size of him, at the silence of him, at his skill with dwarf axes, so that one of his nicknames was ‘The Tallest Dwarf in the Forest’. In fact, he didn’t mind that; he was secretly proud of his skill with the foreign weapons, more so of the fact that he’d met dwarves and so actually knew more about them than those who were catcalling him so; in some respects, it was like growing up in the village, with the younger elflings running around under his feet and taunting him just when he was about to throw his knives.

‘I’ll say this for him,’ Rawon, the captain in charge of the training camp said. ‘He’s as steady under pressure as any veteran. Just a pity he hasn’t got the attitude. Surly; probably without intent, but he won’t go as far as he could with a face on him like that.’

Thiriston tried, though, and whatever the physical demands of the training he dealt with it without complaint, without any difficulty at all; he was used to hard work and long hours. No, it was the orders that got to him, that made him want to growl and snarl and question… but after the first two or three times, with answers of ‘Because I said so; I’m the sergeant,’ or ‘because I don’t like your attitude and want to see a better one…’ he soon learned to keep his mouth shut and his expression neutral. He still earned extra, punitive, duties, however; putting him on night watch was the usual one, and he kept his expression neutral then, too; secretly, he liked being awake and alert at night while all around him was still…

Those nights reminded him of his walkabout, in a way, the first time he left his name and his damaged self behind… he wondered what had become of them, of Seer and Lightstep, if they’d managed to get to where they wanted to be.

If they were even safe, for that matter.

Training stepped up a gear; another company of newcomers on the way, and so they had to learn better, faster, sooner before being discharged into the forest as part of three Novice Companies, undertaking patrols led by an experienced captain or lieutenant, getting used to the environment around the new settlement, scouting further and further into the woods beyond the established perimeters as the boundaries of the new settlement were expanded. 

After a year of this Thiriston and his fellow-novices were given a uniform each and told not to disgrace it, and sent off on new postings. There were a lot of sad farewells said, but Thiriston had no real friends to miss, and tried to say what was right and proper. 

He did have the chance to call in on Bronwenith in her little talan in the oak, and she hugged him and said how well he suited the uniform, how proud she was off him.

‘Keep out of trouble,’ she told him. ‘And be safe!’

He grinned fiercely.

‘Do my best,’ he said.

‘And don’t smile like that at strangers, you’ll terrify them!’

*

His first duty round had him sent with his company ranging through the forest south of the Dwarf Road, seeking those who had not followed King Oropher’s command to leave their talain and come to the new settlement around the Emyn Duir. 

Needless to say, it was a thankless task; the people who had failed to hear Oropher’s orders the first time round were no more pleased to hear them again, nor to have them conveyed by armed guards.

‘What is it about the word ‘guard’ you do not understand?’ one irate village elder said. ‘You are meant to keep us safe, are you not? Instead, you are threatening us?’

‘It is not a threat,’ the captain said. ‘It is merely that the world is growing dangerous again. His Majesty the Elvenking Oropher, our lord whom we invited to lead us, has decided to lead us to Emyn Duir for safety’s sake. Out here, you will have no patrols, no guard companies to come to your aid if orcs and wargs descend on you, if spiders roam further afield. We come only so that the king’s word is clear; come to the mountains and be safe, where you can be protected, where there is secure shelter and food for all, or stay here, and risk you lives, and those of your elflings.’

And some listened, and nodded, and others didn’t, and Thiriston thought that was the saddest part of the whole business, villages split as some families packed up, the remaining folk poorer for the loss of their skills, numbers, and voices. But it was the job, and they all had to get on with it, they all hated it.

‘At least we didn’t need to threaten them or march them off at sword-point, eh, Captain?’ the elf next to Thiriston said, and the captain sighed. 

‘Not this time,’ he said. ‘But word is, there’s real trouble coming, and our lord king wants us all where he can keep us safe when that happens. There’ll be another patrol through here in a year from now, and they won’t just be happy talking about his majesty’s wishes – they’ll be enforcing them.’

*

After two years, a change of orders took Thiriston away from civilian escort duty, and to the freshly-established perimeter around the flanks of the Emyn Duir. He didn’t mind it; the tours were long, with short spells of down time, but he did get a chance to visit Bronwenith every few months.

‘Looking well,’ he said on one visit, and she smiled.

‘I am elf, how else would I look unless I were injured?’

‘You know what I mean. Glad to see you. How’s things?’

She huffed out a sigh at the question.

‘Due to the increasing dangers beyond the bounds of the forest, His Majesty our invited lord, the Elvenking Oropher, has decreed most trading journeys too dangerous to elvenkind and so they are put on hold. The only exception is down to the outposts near the… Old Road, as we now call it.’

‘Ah. So wagon’s not being hired, then?’

‘Not as often, now. But it’s all right; I’m all right, I still have some store of goods to trade, and people use me as their broker, so it’s a living. And, anyway, the forest provides, doesn’t it?’

Yes; the forest provided, and where it failed, the king stepped in to make sure his people had their basic needs met. In the burgeoning stronghold inside the mountains, the court and all its attendant infrastructure needed elves to help run it, and many of those whose lives in the forest had been disrupted found shelter and work there. If not all the scribes found work as teachers and clerks, then at least they weren’t put to menial work. People settled in, and settled down, and were quietly oblivious of events outside their borders. 

Time passed, as time did, the years staccato flickerings of sun and moon glancing past. Bron settled down to her reduced trading, putting the wagons into store, kept an eye on her brother when she could, and hoped all would be well. For although all seemed quiet and calm around the settlement zone. there was danger, rumours on the breeze, odd stories from travellers increasing as more and more elves capitulated and came across the Old Road to the mountains and sought sanctuary, and as the years became decades became centuries and the centuries gathered together, as she began to feel older than any elf had a right to feel, old and tired and oppressed in her talan, she accepted the rumours were true; the forest was no longer as safe as it had been.

But not all was worrying and dark. 

King Oropher’s son, Thranduil, took himself a consort from amongst the Elk-Tamer’s ranks; gossip raged about how the prince, a shining, silver, younger and perhaps more handsome version of his sire, was marrying beneath him; this was countered by the fact that the elleth in question, Baralinith, had refused to be his wife, refused to be anything more than a consort. But if Baralinith was a commoner, and if Oropher disapproved of her, his own wife and queen Lady Erymes liked her and took her to her heart, and so perforce the rest of the court must smile, and try harder to like Baralinith.

‘I’ve met the lady,’ Bronwenith said on one of Thiriston’s visits. ‘She is easy to talk to, and interested in our trade travels. She laughed when she saw the axe and I told her the story of it. A nice elleth; she is welcome any time and not unwilling to sit in a talan and drink moss tea while her lord is busy with his father. Now, how are you? Are you wearing sergeant’s marks today? How wonderful!’  
‘Been working hard. Lose my temper sometimes. Jumped up and down the ranks. This is my highest yet.’

He grinned and Bronwenith laughed. ‘Ai! You still look like a hungry warg when you do that, but perhaps not quite as ferocious as you used to!’

*

Thiriston had said no less than the truth; he had, indeed, worked hard, and lost his temper, and been bucked up and down the ranks, never higher than sergeant, often on latrine duty for some or other matter of insolence or not following orders quite well enough. But for all that, nobody had ever taken him aside and suggested he go back to the hunters, nobody put him on a charge so serious that remedial action had to be taken; someone, somewhere had discovered that he was the one who had survived two dragons and the loss of both parents, and allowances perhaps made because it was seen that he tried to govern himself, to work hard.

It was also seen that he was big, strong, unafraid, just the sort of warrior that would be needed when war came upon them. For war was coming, although Thiriston didn’t really expect to be called to marching orders, didn’t know where, or when, the danger was worst.

King Oropher knew, of course, and had been steadily building up his hunters and his guards, his warriors and his weaponsmiths as he prepared for the conflict; word had come of an old enemy renewed, of the efforts of Noldo forces across the mountains, of the court of Gil-Galad, High-King of the Noldor, of Elendil, the leader of the human armies, of a secret plan to stop the encroaching darkness; a Last Alliance of Elves and Men to sweep the enemy away and cleanse Middle Earth for ever.

‘And we’re invited to the party!’ Thiriston’s captain said one evening almost a third of the way through the third millennium of the Second Age, uncorking a bottle of wine and drinking deep of it in the barracks after duty, sharing the news with his immediate company. It wasn’t news to anyone, of course, not now, for the morning muster had contained a terse announcement of the planned actions and a warning to hold in readiness for it could be a long fight. ‘Nice of the Noldor and the humans to think of us, isn’t it?’

And although it was said lightly, and although they all laughed and cheered, there was no getting away from it.

They were going to war.  


	24. Dagorlad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston goes to war...

Dagorlad.

It was just a word, to start with. It became so much more.

Looking back, Thiriston remembered the magic of the first part of the journey down, marching in hope towards unimaginable disaster. For they were bold and brave and their king was wild and magnificent, the spirit of the Greenwood made manifest in his tall, strong body, his loud, clear voice, his determination to keep the forest safe, and at his side rode his son, a reinforcement of the king’s majesty, a promise of continuity, and the company following marched taller, felt bolder, for having the king and the prince at their head.

But that was before they met up with the forces from Imladris.

It was before they reached Fangorn where they found the Enemy there waiting for them with greedy weapons and hatred in their laughter. Before they watched a forest older and more magical than their own suffering flame and axe, before they had smelled the enemy forces, felt their ferocious hate, waded through blood, black and red, and came through it with fewer warriors and more nightmares.

It was before all the arguments, the checks and delays, the sitting around far from home with the sense of danger and evil palpable in the air, sucking all the light and joy from their song and in the midst of it, Thiriston was nothing, nobody, just a bearer-of-arms, a common soldier trained to fight for his people, prepared to die for his king. One amongst thousands of Silvans in the army with little armour and less experience, and the howls and laughter that caught on the black wind and blew across towards the camp seemed to mock them in their brave hope. 

He thought back to his skirmish with the orcs, long ago now, the dwarves he had befriended; long, long dead now, all of them he realised… he still had the axes, although he’d left one with Bron as a promise to come home and claim it. At the time, he’d been so sure of himself, puffed up with muscle and pride. Here, now, on the edge of it all, nursing a scar on his upper arm from the battle outside Fangorn, he couldn’t see his way home again.

‘Are you lonely?’ a voice said, interrupting his thoughts. ‘Would you like me to keep you company?’

He glanced round; an elleth, improbably, for although ellith served in the companies, this elf was out of uniform. In fact, she was almost out of her clothes completely… Ah. Camp followers, he was surprised the king allowed it. But her hair was wrong, her eyes different, her bearing… and he realised she wasn’t Silvan, wasn’t from his camp. And she was waiting for an answer.

‘No. Thank you.’

It wasn’t true; for once he was lonely, amongst all these elves preparing to fight or die. But it wasn’t that sort of company he wanted. 

He still hadn’t found an elleth he liked well enough to consider settling, or… or anything, really.

The elleth lifted her nose into the air and passed on her way. A few moments later, Thiriston heard a laugh from somewhere along the line, and guessed she’d found someone who did want her company.

Of course, it was more than not finding an elleth he liked; he did like them, as people, as individuals, friends… but… nothing more. Instead, he found himself drawn to look where he knew he oughtn’t, at other ellyn… it wasn’t right. He sighed, trying not to feel ashamed. 

It wasn’t that it was a shock, that he’d just found out; the realisation had been dawning on him for a long, long time that perhaps the way he’d admired his old hunter captain hadn’t just been from professional respect… he’d almost been jealous of Bron, at times, when Romdor had stayed over, he’d felt excluded and hadn’t known why, not at first. So, no, he knew he was different, and he knew there were others like him. He also knew that the edge of battle made people behave oddly, and now wasn’t the time to start something. Not even if there had been anyone obvious to start something with…

Another sigh.

Well, this wasn’t going to do any good; if he was going to be any use in a battle, he needed to set all this aside for later and just get on with being the best warrior he could for as long as he could.

*

‘I think she was right, and you are lonely, you know.’ This voice was male, conversational, and its owner stepped into view. ‘Or, to put it frankly, I’m lonely and if an ellon like you turns down an elleth like that, there’s likely to be a good reason…’

Thiriston found himself looking at an elf almost as tall as himself, with the pale honey hair that suggested a mingling of Sinda and Silvan ancestry. Well-favoured, pleasant features (but all elves were easy on the eye, himself excepted), with a curious smile that didn’t waver, even in the light of Thiriston’s silence.

‘Either you have a fëa-mate at home somewhere you want to be true to, or else you don’t like ellith… now, I’d say the latter, begging your pardon, since that’s how I feel myself, and I have a knack of knowing a kindred spirit when I see one…’

‘Or maybe I just don’t want to bother with something like that, not on the eve of battle.’

‘Brother-in-arms, when is there a better time? Too late, when you’re lying dead in your own blood, waiting for the Lord of Mandos to collect you, too late then to think of the might-have-beens… and, really, I am not so uncomely, for an ellon, am I?’

‘No, you’re not. Better than me, though it’s not saying much.’

‘You are the one who throws knives and axes, preferring them to the bow, so they say. But those who have seen you shoot, in practice, they say you’re as good as any. And those who saw you fight outside Fangorn, ah, they say you are magnificent!’

‘So they talk about me, then?’

The ellon came to sit next to Thiriston, extending hands to the little camp fire, although the night was not that cold.

‘We are elves, we talk about everybody… we are curious creatures, of course we do! We are terrible gossips! Or… no, don’t tell me – you don’t gossip over the elves of the day with your friends, you talk about sensible things…’

‘Don’t talk at all. I don’t have any friends.’

‘You could, you know. And not just the sort of friendship I was seeking when I came to speak to you. Real friends, not just comrades-in-arms.’

‘What were you offering, then?’

‘Ah, now you’re curious!’ The elf smiled and fluttered his eyelashes. ‘But I’m sure you must know…’

‘Got something in your eye, there?’

A huff of breath. ‘Are you really so innocent? Did you never explore the possibilities open to one who would never need be tied to a wife and vows all his days?’

‘Oh. I see.’ 

Thiriston frowned; on his face, it looked like a ferocious scowl and almost the other apologised, backed away… but there was something about this unusual elf, the breadth of him, the strength… he looked like somewhere you could be safe… if he, himself, was not a danger…

‘Friend, brother-in-arms, I thought you would know, I sought to offer you a place to go, where we can be private… I will admit (since you are not a gossip) that I am anxious about our days ahead and a pair of strong arms around me would bring me solace this night… but if it is not a pleasing thought to you, I beg pardon, but…’

‘No. Just never thought about it… but here? Now? I… but you’re nice to ask. All right. If I’m going to die tomorrow, might as well have a good memory to take with me into the Halls… it will be good, yes?’

With relief, the elf smiled, nodded. ‘Yes, for you, with you, it will be good, it will be lovely.’

‘They call me – ‘

‘No. No names. It’s better that way.’

‘Got to call you something. I couldn’t… you know, hold someone I didn’t have a name for. Walkabout names, what about those? Had you one?’

‘Indeed I did! I was Tumblestone, because I looked as if I let the world flow around me, like water in a stream, smoothing my edges.’

‘Tumblestone. I was Shout. Used to have to shout when I practised my knives so no-one got in the way.’

‘Ah. But they tell me you’re good with your knives…’

‘I am, I was, but… can’t be too careful. Well, Tumblestone… what do we do, then?’

Tumblestone smiled.

‘Follow me,’ he said.

*

There was a place within the perimeter of the watch, but left dark, and quiet, as if someone somewhere knew there was a need for such a place on the eve of battle. A rough accumulation of brush provided the only shelter, the only privacy. 

Just a place, not even a campaign tent, not even a bedroll, but between the mounds of brambles, Tumblestone reached for Thiriston, slid his arms around him, cuddled in and put his face up, and it was natural for Thiriston to bend his face down, to kiss the lips offered, to hold Tumblestone close and feel the heat and hardness rise between them. 

Tumblestone’s mouth on his was stunning, hot and needy, his tongue invading, his heart a drumbeat against Thiriston’s chest, his hands beginning to rove and explore. A dream, it was like a dream for Thiriston, as he felt his ties coming undone and his would-be lover broke the kiss to drop on his knees and take Thiriston’s hardness in his mouth, Thiriston in an agony of bliss and uncertainty, his hands on Tumblestone’s shoulders to support him, to hold him, and the rhythmic slide and tug and pull, the hot tongue working, teasing, sliding, and there were no words for how he felt, for the rise and surge of lust that carried him along, up, over, and he shuddered into a climax, trying not to spill into Tumblestone’s mouth, but as he tried to pull out, the ellon pushed towards him, swallowing, holding his hips to keep him steady until he was done and finally relaxed his mouth and eased free, looking up as he tidied Thiriston’s clothing and sigh-smiled up at him.

‘There. Good, for a first time?’

‘Good for any time, I’d say. Thank you, I… ah…’

‘Come and sit with me. Cuddle me for a little, and then…’

‘Then?’

‘See if you can do what I just did, perhaps? My cock in your mouth?’

Although he’d wondered if he’d be able to, not sure how he felt about having an elf’s intimate parts in his mouth, and worried in case his teeth caught awkwardly and he caused pain. But it didn’t seem that complicated, really, as long as he listened to what Tumblestone’s body wanted, needed, and he found he didn’t mind, after all, having his mouth and throat so full, and the taste wasn’t what he expected, but not unpleasant.

Although a cup of wine after would have been nice.

Even so, it was good simply to sit and hold Tumblestone close, to feel the warmth of another living being in his arms, to feel wanted, needed, for however short a time, and he wondered about afterwards, if they got home safely, would this be his life, holding Tumblestone or some other ellon close after passion, thinking about tomorrow.

But after a while, the elf stirred in his arms and sighed.

‘I am grateful, Shout, that you came with me tonight. Tomorrow will not be so hard, now, with the thought of you to take with me to death.’

‘Or life. We might win. We might live, too.’

A short laugh.

‘Yes, we might.’ Tumblestone pushed up out of Thiriston’s arms and kissed his cheek. ‘And if we do, may I seek you again?’

‘Of course. Would like that.’

‘That’s settled then. All we have to do is get through tomorrow. Can I walk you back to your billet? It means if anyone else has been looking, they’ll see, and won’t bother you… unless you’d want them to bother you?’

‘No, I think one elf at a time’s enough for anyone.’

*

Thiriston’s campaign tent was a welcome shelter affording him privacy against the night. A part of him was convinced what had happened was somehow wrong and not… not properly elven behaviour… but another part of him soared and sailed with the memory of bliss, of comfort of holding another person in his arms, of the thought of what his life might be, of what he might be, now he had discovered himself. He slid into reverie with a smile on his face, prepared for whatever the day brought him.

Or so he thought.

It started well; rumours around the cookfire that there was a plan, a secret strategy that would save them all, bold and daring and outrageous, their king at the forefront and with the other armies coming supporting them.

But at muster, Thiriston’s captain didn’t mention a secret plan. Instead his orders were terse, sharp.

‘Follow your heralds. If you see any of the lords in trouble, help them, don’t worry about holding your line if it means our prince or our king has support. Always, always protect them. Try not to injure your fellow soldiers – there may be Men in this fight, and they do not look like us, but nor do they smell like orcs. Try not to die.’

Try not to die.

Men on the battlefield – but whose side would they be on?

Try not to die.

Thiriston thought of Tumblestone, of their encounter, of seeing him again, perhaps, after.

Of going home to Bron to set his axe next to its mate in her little talan, perhaps of taking Tumblestone to meet her.

Wondering how she’d react. Wondering how Tumblestone would react, what his name really was…

Then the heralds stepped to the fore, Oropher rode to the head of the column, his son beside him. Idly, the king lifted a hand, the bugles sounded and they rode and marched towards the enemy who surged like a black plague towards them.

Try not to die.

*

Try not to die.

Thiriston kept it in mind as the battle rushed towards him. His axe was in one hand, its leather thong tethered around his wrist so he wouldn’t lose it, so he could hurl it into an enemy and yank it free without having to get too close. A long knife in his other, held for stabbing and slashing. Vaguely he wondered where the other alliance armies had got to, what about the support from Imladris and the Númenóreans…?

The sounds welled around him; captains giving orders, orcs yelling and cackling, the horses of the king’s personal guard snorting fretfully. And although his company was some way back, still he knew the moment the two forces engaged; a shockwave of death exploded across the army and he wasn’t the only elf to stagger, to try to find his balance. The warrior next to him let out a yell and broke into a run, and so Thiriston did the same, rushing towards the crash of metals and screams heralding the front line.

Soon he faltered; the body of an elf, a comrade, dead with an ugly orc-arrow sticking out of his throat lay in his path. He swallowed; this was the first dead elf he’d seen since… since his childhood, when he had not been meant to see the elves dead of dragon flame and breath and…

Try not to die.

He decided he would try very, very hard as the first wave of orcs gibbered and howled towards him.

*

His sense of time distorted; he could have been on the field hours or moments when, briefly, he was in a clear area. Well, apart from the piled bodies around his feet. Orcs, they were mostly orcs, and ones he’d killed with fierce delight, with joy and purity of intention – for the death of one elf, of one immortal being, they would all die, it was not right – with the marks of his axe or his knife on them. 

He hadn’t escaped injury himself; his face was numb from a blow to his nose, and he was breathing rough, harsh, through his mouth, ignoring the blood. An arrow sprouted from his shoulder; he’d broke off the shaft so it wasn’t in his way, gritted his teeth, and decided it was another source of pain he could ignore.

Now, before his body realised he’d stopped fighting and decided to tell him he was injured, he looked around to read the field. 

The main thrust of the battle was off to one side; he could see elves falling back, repositioning themselves, for the enemy was still coming and the forces of the High-king and Elendil had not yet reached this part of the battlefield. A small rise protected Thiriston from the main onslaught, but soon they would see him and rush towards him… except… they were angling away from where he was, towards a tall, mounted figure at the fore and…

Sweet Lord Eru, it was the king! He had outridden his knights, or they had been unmounted and slain, and there was nobody with him… the other order came to him: protect the lords – and he took a breath and ran, heavy-legged, towards the shining, fighting protector of the forest, desperate to get to him…

…but so were the orcs. They bunched and clustered, oblivious of any approach to their flanks or rear, and Thiriston drove into them, axe sweeping, knife stabbing, closing the distance between himself and the king with every dead body. A shout from somewhere, horns blowing, hoofbeats and horses, but too late, too late as there were still three rows of orcs between him and the king and he howled his rage and despair as he saw Oropher torn out of the saddle, still fighting, heard screams and yells and suddenly pain cut him in two, cut off his breath, and everything went black as orc blood and

 


	25. A Friend of a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston isn't dead yet...

There was a sound, a distant yelling, a moaning closer and not as loud, a fearful pause in his body as if it was waiting for a signal… and a warm sensation in his hand. The yelling stopped, the moaning got louder…

‘Easy, friend. It’s over now. The worst is over, you’re safe.’

Safe. 

He wasn’t safe; nobody in the entire world was safe; there were orcs and worse than their cruelty was the darkness they brought with them, the evil that invaded your heart and tainted your mind and lingered in your dreams…

Suddenly, as if the signal had sounded somewhere in his body, he hissed in his breath and a numbness filled him seconds ahead of a wave of pain. It was everywhere; his face, his body, his shoulder…

‘Just keep still.’ The warm sensation increased – someone squeezing his hand. ‘The healer’s coming. Until then, you must keep still or they’ll have to tie you down.’

‘Can’t…I can’t see…’

He had to force out the words; his mouth was dry and scratchy, the sound of his own voice alien and rough.

‘Your face is covered, you were hurt,’ the other said. ‘It’s all right… you will, you’ll be all right, the healers say.’

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m… friend of a friend. He sat with you, when you were carried off the field, and when they brought you here, he… like I was doing, he took your hand when you were… disturbed. And water, he gave you water, when the healers asked.’

‘Ah. Who…?’

‘Tumb… Tumblestone, he said you’d know.’

Thiriston smiled. It made his face hurt, but thinking about Tumblestone coming to see him made up for it.

‘All the way down,’ the elf said, ‘he watched you. Kept asking, did we think you were like him, did we think he’d have a chance… some said, why’d he want to, you being so… well. But he said, you’re just quiet. And he really liked you, so… I was glad you took to him. It meant a lot to him, and…’

‘How long have I been here?’

‘Four days.’

‘Four days…?’

‘They kept you sleeping.’

‘And Tumblestone? No offence, this is good of you, but… is he coming back…?’

‘None taken, but no. He isn’t. Third day, he… oh, yesterday, only then… but he went into battle singing. You made a difference to him. It was quick, I know that’s what they say about everyone, but I know, I… I saw.’

‘Dead, then?’

‘Yes.’ The elf sighed and let go of his hand at the sound of someone approaching. ‘I am sorry, he was a good elf to know. The healer’s here now.’

‘Thank you… will… will you come again?’

‘No, I don’t think so. Sorry. I just… he wanted you to be told, if something happened. Be well. Get well, be well, and remember Tumblestone.’

‘Please?’

But there was a silence, an emptiness that told him the elf had gone. After a heartbeat or two came a new voice, a different touch, feeling at his wrist.

‘I am one of the healers here, we were hoping you would wake today… you will be thirsty and hungry, perhaps, but it is important you do not try to move, do you understand?’

‘Yes, I… but why?’

‘You’ve been injured and moving will stress the bindings covering your injuries. Now, here is water, slowly, just a little…’

The water was cool, trickling around his mouth as much into it. A taint to it.

‘What…?’

‘We will need to change the dressings. There is relief from pain in the water.’

‘Make me sleep again?’

‘It shouldn’t.’ Another voice, this one female. Assured. ‘Thank you, Hosdir. You can go to the ellyn in Shelter Three now. I’ll attend our brave Thiriston here.’

‘You know me?’

‘Indeed I do. Everyone knows Thiriston, who fights with an axe and knives and who tried to save our king… but the elf who brought your belongings called you ‘Shout’ and, indeed, that is how I first knew you…’

‘I… should remember, your voice is…’

‘Well, voices do change… but you knew me as Lightstep.’

‘Ah. Long ago. Caraneth?’

‘Yes, indeed, although I am Nestoril now, as I said I would become. Now, if you promise not to move, I’ll uncover your face…’

‘Promise.’

It was difficult, though, not to flinch as the dressings moved against his face, not to lift his hand to scratch the strange, painful itch he could feel. But it was done, and he was blinking away his inner eyelids and actually able to see Lightstep-Nestoril as she smiled down at him.

‘There! Yes, you are healing well. At least, your face is. And you can see clearly?’

‘Think so. Bit sore, but… what else is up with me?’

The healer smiled, although it didn’t seem an entirely happy expression.

‘This is the point at which I usually tell my charges they are doing well, and I make reassuring noises and leave them with a vague sense that they will be fine, but none the wiser as to their actual injuries. But, Shout, you are my friend and I would like to just once say exactly how things stand.’

‘That bad, is it? No, I can take it.’

‘I know you can.’ With a sigh she lowered herself to sit on the edge of his pallet. ‘You seem to have been hit twice in the face, the second time harder than the first…’

‘Only remember the first one.’

‘Yes. Your nose is broken, and some of the small bones around your eye sockets and cheeks. But they have begun to knit well – it is a good thing you do not talk very much, you see. I am afraid, with the extreme damage, we could not set the nose, but you will be able to breathe through it.’

‘That’s good. Never was pretty, anyway.’

‘Well, I always thought you were quite attractive, in your own way. And so you shall be still.’

‘Doesn’t matter. Shoulder, there was an arrow…’

‘Yes, and you had broken off the shaft, which was a good move. That’s gone, and the tip wasn’t poisoned… you had two more arrows in you, though; upper left arm and left thigh.’

‘Can’t feel the leg wound.’

‘That’s good. Because there is a more serious injury across your belly and we are keeping you numb. In all honesty, nobody thought you would survive, Shout.’

‘Remember that, remember being split by something. Orc scimitar?’

‘I think that’s what they said. The ones who brought you off the field. They say you were trying to get to our king; you are something of a hero, you know.’

‘No, a failure. He’s dead, couldn’t save him. Couldn’t even get to him.’

‘But you tried.’ She patted his hand. ‘Anyway, we have stitched the two parts of you back together, and nothing major was damaged, by some wonder.’

‘How goes the fight?’

‘I do not know; we are some way from the battle lines. It is better so. The injured are not reminded of their experiences, and the soldiers are not made to think that they, too, could be hurt. Now,’ she went on, her tone becoming brisker. ‘You will be some time here. There may well be other injured elves brought to this tent; at present, you are alone, of course, but wagons of injured warriors are brought daily. You will be glad to hear your axe is safe; you were still attached to it when they brought you in. Of course, I cannot allow weapons on my wards, but it is in safekeeping, as are your other things. Your friend – Tumblestone, he called himself – packed up your campaign tent and such and brought them. I like him, he seems very fond of you.’

‘Dead,’ Thiriston said shortly. ‘Elf came earlier and told me.’

‘Oh, I…’ The healer broke off as tears began to track down Shout’s face and his shoulders shook. Knowing better than to interrupt, she kept silent until he settled again. ‘You did not know him long, he told me. But sometimes, that does not matter.’

‘Night before battle, he came over, talked to me. We were... we…’ Thiriston shook his head. Maybe this wasn’t something he should discuss with a nice elleth like Lightstep.

‘Love is love, Thiriston,’ she said softly. ‘And I have never thought it wrong for love to be expressed, no matter whom. I am sorry he was taken from you so soon.’

‘Just chance-met. Liked him, liked him a lot, but… not sure where it would have gone.’

‘The battlefield is a strange place,’ she told him. ‘People leave their lives behind, and almost never expect to return to them. Some find comfort in comrades whom they would never have sought in peace time. It is known, it is accepted as the way of things. But some… some find it a relief, a chance to express themselves as they truly are for once, without shame or fear. I was going to look at your other injuries before the wagon gets here, but if you would like to be alone for a little while, I can come back.’

‘No, I… don’t want to be alone, not just now.’

‘Very well. You will need to draw on your courage, for this may be unpleasant.’

‘What do you mean un…? ah!’

Nestoril had drawn away the covers across Thiriston’s body and just that action had been enough to send waves of pain through his left leg from knee to hip and beyond.

‘You were…’ _oh, you were battered, when they saw you racing to the king, running over them, they hit you with everything they had, so the knights of Imladris told me… and when you were felled, they kept on, so much hate…_ ‘There were several blows to your leg, also, and while nothing was broken, much was bruised and… and so it is sensitive, but I could not dress the bruises.’ She gasped apologetically as she began to lift the dressing from his midsection. ‘There are not enough bindings, and we are making the best use we can of what we have.’

Thiriston sucked in a breath and swore it out again as the healer probed his injury.

‘I am sorry, oh, I am sorry, but I have to make sure… we feared there may be infection to the wound, and so I have to manipulate… but it looks to be healing cleanly.’ She replaced the dressing with a fresh pad. ‘And I have a drink for you, just water, I promise, this time.’

‘Can I sit up?’

‘Not yet, the sides of your wound are not sufficiently knitted at present. If it were to gape, you would bleed, and you have already lost far more blood than was good for you. But drink.’

She finished her work, laid the covers back over his legs with all the care she could, and lifted his head a little so he could take a few mouthfuls of water.

‘When will I be fit again? For the fight?’

A sigh. 

‘I am not sure you will be well enough for some time,’ she told him. ‘In fact, those they bring to me here, they do not expect them to return to battle.’ 

‘If I can’t fight…’

‘There are other ways you can serve your king, without taking up arms,’ she told him. ‘But all that is for the future, anyway. For now, you must rest. Sleep, if you can.’


	26. Unexpected Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the healer's camp hosts royalty...

Nestoril swallowed her pity as she made herself smile at Thiriston. The truth was, nobody had expected him to live. Battlefield triage had thought him certain to die; it had taken one of the knights who had seen him fall to take him from the ‘hopeless’ line to the ‘let them die in comfort’ line, she had been told. For that was the sad fact about her healer’s shelter; none of the warriors were expected to return to the fight. She was in charge of all the lingering deaths, the faders, the screamers-in-their-sleep. On top of that, as well as the dying and the damaged, she had to somehow keep hope alive for the few who didn’t seem ready to die yet.

It seemed that her old friend Shout would be one of the survivors. Certainly, she hoped so, and certainly, she wasn’t the only one who wanted him to find a way to live. The new king (whom she still thought of as Prince Thranduil) had spoken to her on the edge of the battlefield.

‘Glorfindel tells me this elf was trying to reach my father when he was struck down,’ he said. ‘And I am no healer, but it seems to me from his visible hurts that he could be dead several times over; it seems Lord Námo really wants this one, Healer,’ he had said. 

‘Indeed, sire,’ she had replied. ‘But we want him more, I think.’

‘Yes. Do your best for him.’

‘Of course.’

And she would anyway, without the king’s request… but… how sad that Shout’s friend was dead! Although who had told him, how had the word got to him… she would have preferred him to be a few days further along in his healing process before the news had been broken to him… more, though, it was a pity for the ellon in question, Tumblestone, as he had named himself. She had heard him talking to Shout, heard him whisper ‘I love you’. Shout, of course, had been unconscious, but that had been the moment when he smiled in his sleep and his friend had been so happy…  
It wasn’t the first sad story of the battle, and wouldn’t be the last, she knew. And all she could do was give the best care she could for those brought to her and try not to find it too hard when they died.

‘Healer – there is a messenger…’

Her assistant spoke from the opening to the shelter, and from the tones of mixed dread and awe in the voice, Nestoril guessed it was either something important or someone impatient.

‘I will be with you momentarily,’ she said. ‘Now, Shout, remember; I want you to try to rest. It is the best thing for your body at the moment, sleep and rest brings swifter healing. But if the pain wakes you, call for me.’

‘Thanks, my thanks, Lightstep.’ 

Thiriston smiled up at her, and she realised that, despite the bend he would always have, now, in his nose, he was still appealing, in a rather rough sort of way.

‘I’ll see you soon,’ she said, rising and heading to her waiting assistant. ‘Now, what is it? Do they think we do not have enough to do without…?’

She broke off as she saw who was waiting outside the tent. Bulked-up in armour, wearing more than one stripe of still-drying blood as token of having come fresh from a battlefield, the High King of the Noldo, Gil-galad himself, his half-elven herald behind him looking about with more than casual interest.

Well, High-king or no High-king, he was on her territory, and she would not be brow-beaten by a lord who (so rumour said) had held back his warriors and so let King Oropher lead his troops to disaster…

She dropped a brief curtsey.

‘How may the healers serve you today, Lord?’ she asked formally.

The king grinned, laughed out loud.

‘There’s a welcome, indeed!’

‘My lord,’ the herald stepped forward and spoke quietly in Gil-galad’s ear, but not so softly Nestoril didn’t hear his words. ‘This lady, and her friends, have been working tirelessly to assist the injured; I am sure no disrespect was meant, and the good people are simply busy…’

Nestoril found herself bridling; she did not need some jumped-up peredhel making her excuses for her…

‘In fact, however, I can see that kings bleed the same colour as warriors… other warriors, that is. But yes, we are busy today.’

‘Yes. Yes, that is truth. Well, Healer; I am come with a proposition for you… should we go somewhere to discuss it, where there may be wine, perhaps?’

‘Unless my lords brought some along, we will have a long walk indeed. The only supplies we have received here are those necessary for the healing of the injured. Even food is in short supply.’

The herald tried a smile.

‘Well, we may be able to help there, at least…’

‘There is somewhere we may talk, I suppose. Follow me.’

She led the way through her camp of shelters, making sure they passed the worst injured, the most difficult conditions on the way, for it seemed this peredhel, at least, was aware of the suffering around him. More than once it looked as if he would have liked to stop and speak with the injured in the tents, but a look from his king reproved him.

Well. It was none of her business how the High-king ran things, but she would brook no interference here…

Her small, private quarters were not large enough for herself, really, so to have them crowded with the king and his herald made for an intimate discussion. 

‘You are probably too far away to hear the news accurately,’ the herald said at a nod from Gil-galad. ‘But the case is this: we are advancing again to harry the enemy and intend to lay siege on the Dark Lord’s fortress. But we have many injured who cannot make the march. Rather than have two separate camps for Noldor and Silvan elves, we suggest combining our efforts; we will take charge of all those who are mildly injured, who can make the journey with us. We have more seriously injured warriors, who need ongoing care; we would like you to take them in charge…’

‘As if I do not already have enough…’

‘But we will leave you supplies, and we will leave healers with you. All we suggest is that those who are likely not to be fit to fight again, be left in your care…’

The High-king cleared his throat and the herald continued, as if it had been a hint.

‘Some, some of them. There are those whom, it is felt, do not contribute to the proper mood of the battlefield… those that wake in the night, shouting and screaming, for instance…’

‘This is what I have been doing, and you seek to burden me with more…?’

‘We will supply you from our own stores, and with another healing assistant, to boot. And when recovered, you can keep the warriors we send you to help about your camp. Anyone can learn to roll bandages…’

‘And anyone can see that is one of our least pressing needs!’ Nestoril snapped. ‘I doubt I have a choice, really, do I?’

‘No. You do not. But we were hoping to gain your agreement without the need for invasive encouragement…’

‘It has not worked. Under duress, I agree. But I will make the ultimate decision as to the fitness of those in my care – even those you send me. And if I say they are not well enough to return to battle, then you will not seek to overturn my decision. Agreed?’

‘Conditionally… if you will accept one more category of injured…’

‘What category? I already have the dying ones, the hanging-on-to-life ones, the ones afflicted with evil dreams, the ones who fade…’

‘The ones who make unnatural choices of partner.’

Nestoril stared. ‘As if it is not hard enough for such elves, you now seek to make it a cause for segregation?’ she demanded. ‘Are their lives not already filled with difficulty?’

‘No, you misunderstand,’ the herald put in swiftly, ‘it is simply that…’

‘Bring them,’ Nestoril said. ‘Send them to me. I will care for them as they should be cared for – just like anyone else, and I will not set them apart in my mind or in my actions just because you seem unable to see that…’

‘They need care,’ the peredhel said, stressing each word deliberately, as if trying to impress on his king the delicate nature of the discussion. ‘It is as you say, Healer; they do not deserve to be treated differently. But on the battlefield… it is a distraction, some elves say. And we want to win, after all, and so are doing all we can to maximise morale and encourage our warriors…’

‘It does not sound like it. What about the morale of those poor warriors you are singling out so unfairly? Well, they will find a safe haven here. And now, if there is nothing more…?’

‘The first company will arrive later today…’

‘Company? How many…?’

‘…along with tents and supplies and the healer we promised you. So, my king and I will take up no more of your time. And… we are grateful.’

‘And so you should be!’ she said, but only long, long after they were out of earshot.


	27. Companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston is not alone...

‘So, they are sending me even more injured to care for, while they press on towards the stronghold,’ Nestoril told Shout that evening; other than the healers she worked with, he was the only friend she had here, and she knew he would be interested whereas her healers would just feel more burdened-down. ‘But they are sending me supplies, too. Can you imagine, they asked me if I had any wine?’

Thiriston smiled at her outrage.

‘Bloody Noldor cheek!’ he said. ‘I hope you gave them horses’ piss…’

‘Ai, if only I’d had some…’ she said with a smile.

‘Some…’ He tried to lift his head. ‘Ai, Valar, sorry, I’m sorry, I just… did I really say that…?’

‘You did, and the mental image is most refreshing! Probably more so than the drink would have been… now, where was I…? Yes, it was an interesting discussion. I don’t think the High-king is used to being answered back.’

‘Do him good.’

‘I hope so. The other, his herald… he seemed to have more of an idea of what we’re up against, for a peredhel, he’s not that bad, I suppose… well. I had better get on. Someone will bring you a draught later; try to drink it all, it will help you sleep.’

‘All right. Thanks, Lightstep. Nice just to chat to someone.’

‘Well, I don’t expect these beds will stay empty long; there’ll be company in here for you soon.’

*

When the promised company arrived, however, Thiriston was deep in the arms of his sleeping draught and didn’t even stir as two elves were laid in beds opposite his pallet. Nestoril, having glanced at him and seen him unlikely to wake, spoke soft reassurance to her new charges and left them to rest, going off to greet the other half-score or so injured who had been brought to her.

The two new elves Thiriston found in his tent were both asleep or unconscious when he stirred and found a healer he didn’t know leaning over him.

‘I am Nathweniel,’ she said. ‘I came with the wagon last night and wanted to make sure you have all you need before I disturbed the others with my work.’  
‘Wouldn’t mind a drink of water,’ he said. ‘And starting to feel hungry now.’

She nodded. ‘Can you sit up?’

‘Not sure I’m allowed to yet.’ He drew aside the covers to show the dressing across his body. ‘Healer Nestoril said lie still. Dearly love to move, though.’

‘Oh, dear me! Well, I am sure she knows best. I will ask for care for you.’

The elves stayed unconscious through the day, drawing anxious, soft tones between Nestoril and the new healer, Nathweniel. She seemed all right, Silvan, even though she came from the Noldor camp, and seemed keen to befriend everyone she could.

‘She might be a spy,’ someone said and ‘Yes, that’s probably what they said in Imladris,’ Nestoril answered. ‘Now can she please look at your injury and try to help?’

‘What’s your story, then?’ Thiriston asked her next day, for she was often in the tent caring for the two badly-injured Noldo warriors. ‘Silvan, in Imladris?’

‘Oh, my family, long ago, traded across the mountains. On one journey, there was some debate as to whether or not the journey home would be safe. My parents accepted an invitation to settle with the wood-elves there, and I am the result. I am not as young as I may seem, you see, just young to being a healer. But tell me, Master Axe-warrior – how are you today?’

‘Nestoril says I can sit up tomorrow. Face feels a bit better now.’

‘How wonderful! I am sure you will like the change. And it shows you are healing well.’

‘What about your friends, there? Been very quiet.’

‘Indeed, they were badly hurt and we have kept them as deeply asleep as we dare. But now they may rise to wakefulness, and in the process, may begin to dream. Sometimes…’

‘People shout in their sleep. I do it, I know. Ran into trouble near Fangorn, horrible sight, big fight, disturbing, and then the day my king died… I keep seeing him fall, over and over, it gets too much and… Hasn’t mattered before, nobody to upset with it. So, if I disturb them, sorry.’

‘Oh, not you! I was trying to say they may disturb you, but try not to mind it too much. It is just their minds trying to make sense of the horrors they have endured.’

*

That night, Thiriston dragged up from sleep to hear a whimpering that threatened to become a yell in his throat. Close at hand, a voice, a touch to his hand.

‘Hush, Shout, it’s all right.’

The touch was comforting, the voice startled him.

‘Tumblestone? They said you were dead…’

‘Sweet friend, they said true; I am dead. But Lord Námo has been a little busy, so I am still waiting to be collected. I sit with you often, but I can only speak in your dreams.’

‘You all right?’ Silly question, but then, talking to your dead sweetheart in your sleep was silly anyway… ‘I mean, they said, quick. Was it all right?’

‘I don’t quite remember; I don’t feel I suffered much. You’re getting better, that’s good.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes, indeed. There is work for you to do.’

‘Fighting? Not sure I want to, not yet.’

‘Not quite yet, I don’t think. I…’ 

The voice broke off, the touch faded as from outside, a yell split the air of the tent.

‘Don’t go…!’ Thiriston said, but he rose up through sleep and said the words aloud.

The elf in the bed opposite was moaning while the one next to him was shouting, yelling, incoherent pleas for aid, reliving the battle, screaming as he was hit and hit again in his reverie.

‘It’s all right,’ Thiriston said softly. ‘It’s just a dream, it isn’t real, not this time.’

But the elf kept on yelling and yelling…

Finally, Nathweniel came in, hushing as she did, speaking softly and reaching out. Restricted as he was to lying on his back, Thiriston lost sight of her, but heard her attempts to calm the elf, including hearing her break off half way through a speech and take a sharp breath.

‘Healer Nathweniel? You all right?’ Thiriston called, something making him think otherwise.

‘Yes, yes, I am… I am fine, it is just… he does not realise he is no longer fighting and… I think I need someone to help… I will be a moment, if… if he wakes and speaks, I…’

She fled. Helpless, Thiriston lay on his back and listened to the increasingly disturbed shouts from the injured elf until Nathweniel arrived back with Nestoril at her side.

‘Everything all right?’ Thiriston asked.

‘A moment, Shout, then I will be with you… there, let me hold him, now try…’

Nathweniel spoke to the elf, and Nestoril added soft, calming notes until the screams stopped, the elf grew still. After a moment, he spoke, questioning, faltering, and even from across the tent, Thiriston heard the healers exhale in relief.

‘Was… was I… was that me?’ the elf asked, unbelieving.

‘Yes, but do not worry; it could have been any of a dozen elves, it happens. As long as it is inadvertent, we do not take offence! Now, can you sit up?’

‘Oh, _he_ can sit up…’ Thiriston muttered. 

Within seconds, Nestoril was at his side.

‘Yes, Shout, because he wasn’t almost split in two by an orc scimitar. But you are doing well, and tomorrow…’

‘Yes, tomorrow. But Nathweniel needed help tonight, didn’t she?’

‘Really, I do not know what you could have done.’

‘Did I do that? Yell and lash out?’

‘At first, no, you were too deeply asleep. But when you did, and your friend held your hand and talked to you, it calmed you. Sadly, I do not have enough healers to spare one to sit with each elf that is disturbed in their sleep…’

‘Does it have to be a healer? If Tumblestone… he wasn’t a healer, after all.’

‘That’s a good point, but…’

‘When I’m able. Sit with them when they shout, do that, calm them so you can work… Could I?’

Nestoril smiled and tilted her head, thinking about the idea.

‘Do you know? I think perhaps you could.’


	28. Sergeant Shout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston finds a new way to serve...

Sitting up was painful, but Thiriston took each stabbing ache as a reminder he was still alive, and presently sitting up was followed by moving from the bed to stand at the opening of the tent, leaning on one of the healers, which in turn was followed by getting dressed in proper clothes, which led to a certain amount of freedom to move around the camp with the help of a stout stick. Although still in huge and massive discomfort, and although still nowhere like fully healed, still, he appreciated that he could just walk away when the atmosphere in the little shelter got too much.

For it did get too much, and quickly; the other two elves, Noldo, were not friendly, and when, once, Thiriston had gone to the bedside to whisper comfort and take the elf’s hand, this had been met with a frosty response once it was realised that Thiriston wasn’t neither a Noldo nor a healer. 

He shrugged, and walked away, and shrugged again as he explained to Nestoril.

‘Woke him from the nightmares, at least. No thanks for it, mind.’

‘Well, thank you for trying,’ Nestoril said, and arranged for the elves to be moved somewhere else and brought Silvans in their place.

At night, in his sleep, Thiriston dreamed of Tumblestone. Now, when his reverie was disturbed by evil dreams, he felt his friend cuddling up against him, whispering softly in his ear, and it calmed him.

‘You still here?’

‘I am. Lord Námo is still busy. If you want a job, next shelter over, the middle of the three beds there. Elf is about to start shouting… and I happen to know he won’t mind to find you holding his hand when he wakes…’

‘What’s going to happen to you, Tumblestone?’

‘Oh, I do not know. It’s fine; when you sleep, I can talk to you, and while you wake, I can bear you company and think of all the nights we might have spent together…’

‘Don’t be sad about me.’

‘I’m not; I’m sad about me. It’s different. Now, next tent, I think he’s called Barhador. Come on. Hurry! I’ll be here when you get back.’

It was strange, but Tumblestone was right; the elf in the middle of the row was whimpering, his limbs twitching, and Thiriston could see he’d been bound to the bed across his upper torso – something the healers sometimes had to do, if their charge was likely to move and disturb his or her injuries. But elves so bound did not sleep well, and if you were having bad dreams, Thiriston reasoned, you’d feel worse if you were restricted, unable to move away from the darkness.

The ellon’s fist was clenching and unclenching below the encompassing bindings and his head turned restlessly. His eyes wide open in reverie, there was a questing fear in his attitude that Thiriston recognised for the dread in nightmare. He took the elf’s hand so that the next attempt at making a fist found his fingers in the way.

‘Easy there, you’re dreaming. Just a dream.’

A gasp, another whimper, his hand clutched convulsively.

‘The worst’s over, Barhador. Relax. You’re safe, the healers have you.’

The elf stilled.

‘Who… who are you? There is someone there, you are real?’

‘They call me Shout,’ Thiriston said. ‘Yes, I’m real. I was injured first day. Still here, still healing.’

‘Ah, it was bad…! I was in the reserves, kept back… we were meant to go on, didn’t get there… healers won’t let me up, they keep me bound to the bed…’

‘Only so’s you don’t wriggle and disturb your dressings or slow your healing.’

‘But, when the dreams come, I don’t remember that…’

‘You will. Want me to stay while you sleep?’

‘Stay, yes. But… talk to me?’

‘For a bit, aye. Tell me about yourself? They call you Barhador, don't they? Who’s waiting for you, why d’you want to be in the guard…?’

It was almost daybreak when Thiriston returned to his bed. The bedroll was long cold, but as he settled for the last of the night, he felt the insubstantial warmth of the thought of Tumblestone at his back.

‘You’ve made a friend, there,’ Tumblestone said in his mind as reverie swept him away.

‘Good idea of yours. G’night.’

‘Goodnight, Shout, dear.’

*

As soon as he was up and had breakfasted, Thiriston went into the next tent. The elves who were conscious looked around at the intrusion, but the one in the middle bed laughed.

‘Shout! You are real! I thought you were some sprite or ghost… they say there are such things, the fëar Lord Námo hasn’t gathered up yet… I’m so glad you’re real!’

‘I’m pretty glad, too, Barhador. So. Be good for the healers, you hear? No lashing out when they come to do your bandages.’

‘I wouldn’t do that.’

‘Some have,’ the elf one the first pallet said. ‘It is sad and shocking and, of course, the elves never mean to… but they do not properly know where they are or what is happening.’

That was true enough. So, after a wave to his new friend, he went to seek Lightstep in her little tent. She wasn’t there, but a note was pinned to the fabric: ‘working’ it said.

‘Working. All she ever does,’ Thiriston muttered, but as he turned away, Nestoril hailed him from three shelters along the row.

‘How may I help, Shout?’

‘Ah. Was thinking I might help you and the others. Talking to Barhador and his friends, and you know how sometimes they lash out and healers get hurt…?’

‘Yes…? It is never deliberate…’

‘Could I help you with the lively ones? Well enough now to make a difference. I’d like to be doing something.’

‘Well… all right. Yes. Come with me now, then. I want to walk the camp; I hope it’s not too far for you…?’

Thiriston growled, making Nestoril laugh and pat his arm. ‘Oh, I had forgotten you were such good company! Now, let’s start here…’

‘How many are you caring for?’ Shout asked, after they’d visited the twentieth tent.

‘Oh, hundreds… it’s better now than it was,’ she said. ‘Most of those they bring me survive now; it wasn’t like that at first.’

‘Nearer the battle then,’ Shout pointed out. ‘Further to bring them now. Bound to be some die on the way.’

She sighed. ‘Yes, I fear you are right… but I dare not ask, nor am I willing to go nearer the fighting again; it was truly awful and all you poor, brave souls who endure such conditions, day after day…’

‘Not me. Fell first day.’

‘Yes, I know. But you fought on the way down, you were still touched by the darkness… I am glad you came through, my friend. Now, I have a meeting with the healers at this time, usually. Join me, and I will introduce you formally to everyone.’

So ‘Sergeant Shout’ as Nestoril styled him began working for the healers. If anyone looked likely to be a danger to either themselves or the healer attending, Thiriston would be there, his big hands gently restraining, his voice calming, short, simple words, the voice of a warrior, and almost always he was attended to and the elves calmed and came back to themselves wondering. If any in the night were about to wake screaming, Tumblestone would whisper to Shout about them, and he would go and take their hand and speak softly to them until they calmed, or woke.

*

Every now and then, an emissary from the main force would come and ask how many recovered soldiers were ready to go back to the fray. Nestoril would frown and say none of her charges were well enough, would say that the High-king himself had said none of them would be expected to return, that she would have the final say as to who was fit or not, and that not all injuries were visible. But where the elves in question were Noldor, she had little choice but to let them go if they wished, or, rather, if they said it was what they wished.

‘I do not know how much longer I can keep on refusing to send anyone,’ she confided in Thiriston. ‘Nor can I continue to keep physically healthy elves here; I need the beds for the new injured, and they need to be doing something…’

‘Can get them practising bow, if you like, outside the bounds,’ Thiriston offered. ‘And home duty – there’s a need for help at home, that frees up other elves to come. Theoretically; nobody need know, do they?’

‘That’s true, but they can’t go home like this! They would need to go in a group, with someone in charge…’

‘M’sister. Trade family, we’ve got two wagons. She can drive down, take injured back home. How does that sound?’

‘Oh, Shout, that sounds perfect! Would she agree?’

‘Of course. Next messenger that goes, I’ll send word.’

‘Better than that – I have a hawk I can send, if… if you would write…?’

So Thiriston wrote and Bronwenith, secretly chafing in the confines of Emyn Duir, routed out some of her former waggoneer friends and sent word that not two, but six wagons would make their way to Healer Nestoril’s camp. 

‘It won’t be fast,’ Thiriston warned her. ‘But it will be certain. And if I know Bron, she’ll have full wagons on the way down, too. Bit of cheer, perhaps.’

*

That night, Tumblestone seemed to cuddle more tightly against Thiriston’s back.

‘You never let me see you. And you had – have – such nice eyes…’

‘Had is right. I am not pretty now; I wear my death, and it’s been weeks… oh, Shout, Lord Námo is coming and I could go with him, but… but I… but I can’t just leave you.’

‘Why not? I’m all right, you know that. I’ll be fine.’

‘I know. Listen, though; that Barhador… he’s nice, but… he’s married, he has a wife at home near Emyn Duir… but he needs someone, just for now and… don’t be unhappy about him.’

‘No, won’t break my heart over him. Can’t help wishing you hadn’t died. Anyway, you’ve got bliss or something to look forward to, haven’t you?’

‘I suppose I do, but… But I… I think I need… need to know you really don’t mind…’

‘Of course I don’t mind. You need to be at peace, Tumblestone. Just wish I knew your name, so I could remember you on the Night of the Names…’

‘You would do that?’

‘My first lover, of course I would…’

‘I am – I was… I was Castaer.’ 

‘Castaer. I’m Thiriston, Castaer. Will remember you.’

‘I loved you, Thiriston. I would have loved you longer.’

‘Thank you for being with me; it’s been a kindness.’

‘Lord Námo is here. He is dark and bright and smiling and… but I do, I love you…’

‘Love you too, I think.’

But suddenly Thiriston’s back was cold. Tumblestone – Castaer – was gone.

He was alone again.


End file.
